Redemption
by anondracomalfoy
Summary: Hermione works at St. Mungos, and the fourth floor has recently made a discovery and inadvertently retrieved her biggest regret-her lost and seemingly Obliviated husband, Draco Malfoy. Draco is forced to return to her, and strange things begin to occur.
1. The Fourth Floor

_**Redemption**_

If there was one thing Hermione prided herself in, it was her ability to cope with the obstacles life constantly threw at her. And today, her conflict revolved around the fourth floor of St. Mungo's—the wing dedicated to Spell Damage. She'd been stationed on the third floor, trying to help an elderly Wizard figure out why he'd gotten a bit of a purplish rash on his arm, seeing as it had now spread to the entire left half of his body, when Ginny Weasley shuffled into the room.

As a new intern, Ginny looked none-too-pleased as she approached the blistered man, a look of slight repulsion etched onto her fair features. Hermione whipped around to grab an antidote for the poor Wizard, nearly running into the youngest of the Weasleys. Hermione looked baffled, to say the least; Ginny was supposed to spend the day getting to know the patients who suffered with severe and long-term memory loss, seeing as how the fourth floor of the Wizard Hospital was to become her new permanent station of employment.

"Ginny," Hermione started, a bit breathless. "Shouldn't you be upstairs? You know, you really shouldn't go traipsing about the hospital—you could risk losing your job." She gave her young friend a scolding glare before turning around, proceeding to test out a few drops of Dittany on the man. She bit her lip in concentration, and grew exasperated when she noticed that Ginny still stood there, swaying to and fro awkwardly on the spot. Sighing in aggravation, Hermione twisted her torso around, aggravation clearly etched onto her fine features.

"_Yes_, Ginny?"

"Her—Hermione," Ginny began, her voice coated with anxiety. "Katie said she needs you on the fourth floor today. She—she wants you to look after a man they've just found. I don't know who he is, they haven't told me, but he's the talk of the entire floor."

Hermione felt her heart sink almost instantly. She dropped the bottle of Dittany, and it clattered viciously against the tray that all of her potions and tools were located on. The Fourth Floor. The Spell Damage level. No, no, she couldn't go back. She couldn't go on that level—she'd sworn to herself a year ago when everything happened that she'd never venture around those kinds of people again. They only made her feel even guiltier for the crime she'd committed. Hermione's eyes grew glassy and she licked her dry lips, swallowing the growing lump in her throat.

"Hermione," Ginny began again, her voice more tender. "If you—if you want me to tell them you've gone home sick or something, I can. I know you don't like being up there, given what…well, what happened, and all."

Hermione was barely aware that she gave a stiff jerk of her head, blinking away the tears that were threatening to form. She stood tall, removed her latex gloves and threw them in the nearest waste bin, and jutted her chin forward. She turned around hotly on her heel to face the man she'd been treating only moments prior, and inhaled a jagged breath.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I've been called away in a matter of urgency," She began in an apologetic tone, her nerves rattled. "But I promise you that Dr. Bones or some other equally qualified Healer will be with you at their earliest convenience. The rash doesn't seem to be fatally serious, so you'll be alright for the next couple of minutes, won't you?" The man reluctantly nodded his head, and Hermione spun around again, sauntering towards the elevator with determined steps. Ginny jogged after her, the young girl's fiery red hair flowing down the back of her scrubs.

"Hermione," Ginny began in an uncertain tone. "Are you sure you should be doing this?" Hermione smacked the elevator button violently and gritted her teeth, suppressing the urge to ball her tiny hands into fists.

"I'm fine, Ginny," She spat, feeling slightly guilty for the snippy tone in which she was taking with her best friend. As the pair stepped on the lift, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned against the back wall of the elevator, groaning slightly to herself. It was just too damn difficult for her to face a whole crowd of people doomed with the same fate as someone she'd known only too well not that long ago. What felt like hours on the lift passed by in silence, until Ginny cleared her throat and awoke Hermione from her thoughts. The bushy-haired ex-Gryffindor's eyes snapped open, and she shoved away from the wall, running her fingers through her mass of curls.

"What's the state of the man in question?" She asked suddenly, realizing she'd better go into this hellacious ward with at least some idea of what she was dealing with. She heard Ginny fish around in the folder she always carried with her, pulling out a paper and reading a small script attached.

"Uhm," She began, scanning the document's contents. "Says he was brought in this morning, and had traces of a memory charm left on him. Katie checked him out, and the charm seems to have worn off. He doesn't act as though he's in a daze or doesn't know who he is—so that rules out his condition as being similar to Lockhart's. And he passed all tests of sanity, so he didn't meet the same fate as the Longbottom parents. So, perhaps Katie just wants you to check him over for a quick physical before they dispatch him?" Ginny sounded hopeful, and Hermione reminded herself to thank her friend later for that. Optimism was a wonderful trait to have, and Hermione needed a bit of it in a situation like this.

The lift opened and the pair stepped out, Hermione's legs wobbling recklessly under her. She stood erect and appeared to maintain a confident disposition, but inside she was an absolute mess. Ginny surveyed her one final time with an anxious expression before slamming her folder shut and leading Hermione through the doors of the Spell Damage Wing.

Hermione kept her gaze on the speckled tiles below her and her scuffed brown shoes. She refused to meet the vacant glares of the occupants of this wing—staring at Wizard after Wizard and Witch after Witch who'd unwittingly succumbed to the damaged life of amnesia and other harmful spells made her stomach lurch, and she soon felt nauseas. The guilt gripped her in this wing like no other, and she focused on evening out her breathing patterns, just to give her something to do.

Ginny elbowed her in the side gently, and so Hermione lifted her head as if on command, stopping short when she realized she'd almost run into her old schoolmate, Katie Bell. Katie, after having been cursed, had vowed that she'd help others who were placed in situations similar to hers. She worked her way up through the St. Mungo's Healing line, and had managed to land herself a spot of authority: the Head of Department. She was in charge of the fourth floor—the floor Hermione so completely loathed and detested. Her eyes ran over Hermione's frame quickly, a sweet smile encompassing her features. The benign Witch held her hand out expectantly, and Hermione took it, offering a weak handshake in return.

"Hello, Katie," She began meekly, a fraction of a smile twitching onto her features. "Ginny told me that you needed me to inspect a new patient, or…or something?" She hoped the 'or something' would be an immediate dismissal from this particular wing of the Hospital and an apology for disturbing her time. As it was, no such luck occurred.

Katie's expression seemed to change slightly, and she too seemed uneasy, as Ginny had only minutes before. Hermione was about to open her mouth and blurt out a slur of questions as to why Katie would have such an apprehensive look on her face, but was cut off by her co-worker and superior responding, instead.

"Yes, well, I'd better show you," She said quietly, turning around and indicating for the pair to follow them. Ginny and Hermione exchanged bemused glances, and slowly trotted after Katie. Whatever it was, it appeared that this new inpatient had given several members of the fourth floor quite a bit of trouble.

_Not a good sign_, Hermione thought pessimistically, nausea surging inside of her again.

Hermione and Ginny followed Katie down a row of corridors; the Spell Damage Wing—Hermione had noted—snaked and slithered. The corridors weren't straight and narrow as other floors were. Instead, they were spacious and curved and didn't have sharp or jagged turns. Hermione noted that this was probably due to the fact that the patients of this particular ward were, most often, permanent members, and therefore deserved the luxury of strolling about the floor at their ease.

Hermione was so absorbed in her thoughts and theories that she barely noticed Katie halt abruptly at the end of a long corridor, and Hermione stumbled over her feet in order to keep from running into her. Ginny caught her by the elbow and steadied her, and Hermione threw her friend a grateful smile. Ginny just nodded knowingly, and the pair turned to study Katie curiously as she reached to grab the large brass knob on the door positioned in front of her. Hermione observed the slightest tremor in her fingers, and one brown eyebrow rose of its own accord in the most curious of manners.

Hermione took a step closer, her legs like lead as she trudged towards the door. She kept her gaze fixed on the wooden frame, trying to imagine what could possibly lurk behind it. She felt drawn to it, almost—crazy as it was, she almost hoped that whatever inhabited the opposite side of the thin wooden door would help her overcome the constant guilt and fear she lived with. She nibbled on her lower lip, and designed to keep her gaze focused on the door, that way she could brace herself for what was on the other side.

"Hermione," Katie began in a cautious tone. She twisted the knob, and the door slowly opened. "We've found your husband."

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes grew blurry and her hands absentmindedly balled themselves into tight fists; her nails clawing into her palms and creating crescent-shaped grooves in her supple skin. Her throat grew dry and her brown eyes grew wide as she took in the scene before her.

_No, no, they're lying, _Her mind hissed at her frantically. _There's no way. He—they…it can't…_

Her thoughts were severed at the sight of the man in front of her.

Leaning against the wall of the small inspection room and studying his cuticles as though he were bored to tears, was a lean and pale-faced Wizard with a mop of white-blonde hair. His grey eyes lifted to the doorway as he heard the click of the lock, and a cruel smirk slipped onto his features. He stood taller and shoved himself away from the wall, his eyes glimmering deviously.

"Honey, I'm home," came the dry and humorless greeting of Draco Malfoy.


	2. The Proposal

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **I could have made this chapter a lot longer, but I chose not to for specific purposes. Enjoy, comment, and let me know what you think! I have so many plans for this fic, it's kind of becoming my child, hahah.

**Chapter Two: The Proposal**

Hermione's first instinct was to collapse onto the floor in a fit of tears, but she refrained from doing so. She refused to let him see her break down—not again. She stood defiantly, her eyes aching as they grazed over his build. He still looked relatively the same—lean, but not too thin. Pale, with striking grey eyes and a defined bone structure. Pale blonde strands of hair that tickled the tips of his forehead, and a permanently cynical expression etched onto his face.

Husband and wife stared at one another critically for several painstakingly silent moments. The clock that hung above the door could be heard ticking, and the sound was almost too painful to bear. Finally, Katie cleared her throat, and inhaled sharply.

"I think we'll just leave you two to…catch up," She responded, choking out the last of the sentence. Reluctantly, Ginny drew back, and Hermione stared at her with a fearful expression in her eyes. And just like that, the door slammed, and they were alone.

"Draco…" Hermione began, her voice pained.

"Oh, look!" Draco cried in feigned amusement. "She remembers my name!"

Hermione winced at his reaction, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She couldn't tell if he'd regained all of his memories or not, and was too scared to ask. She feared his answer; his reaction. He was angry enough with her as it was—she didn't want him to lash out and do something he'd later regret, as she assumed he would once the matter was finally addressed.

"How—how long have you had your memories back?" She forced out, her curiosity and interest overwhelming her. She unclenched her hands and wrung them together nervously, her eyes never moving from his. Hermione watched as a flicker of some foreign emotion passed through Draco's eyes, but before she could attempt to decipher it, it disappeared. More than likely to be shoved back with the rest of the vulnerable emotions he did so well at hiding.

But Hermione knew him better than a lot of other people. She knew he was upset about something. And she had a pretty damn good idea as to what.

"Eleven months," He clipped out matter-of-factly, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He challenged her gaze with a hard glare, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

His response knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to breathe after she was hit with the realization that he'd gone back to a sense of normality—well, as close to normal as Malfoy could be—just one month after the incident. It made her chest ache: to think, after all of this time of letting the guilt press against her and eat her away, he'd been fine! Had all of his memories and hadn't been wandering around Europe, lost and confused! If she wasn't so cross with him for not letting her know sooner to ease her troubled mind, she might've actually been pleased to hear this.

"Why didn't you come back?" She asked, her voice taut with emotion.

"You know why I left, Granger. Oh, I'm sorry…Mrs. _Malfoy_."

"That's not who I am anymore," She whispered, her heart hammering dangerously in her chest.

Draco nodded towards her name tag and smirked deviously. "That appears to indicate otherwise. And as you may have forgotten, Hermione—" Draco sauntered forward, severing the distance that separated them. "—our marriage is still very much intact. You seem to have left out the most important key of your little plan: the divorce papers."

Hermione swallowed nervously. Those words, they were so final: _divorce._ She was gripped with heartache and panic, and was therefore unable to say anything to the Wizard in front of her for several moments. She ran her tongue along the back of her teeth, trying to rack her brain for a coherent response.

"Why _did_ you come back, then?" She breathed, her heart aching at the sight of him. Draco shrugged indifferently, gazing around the small room and wrinkling his nose in distaste. Malfoy had never been one for modest furnishings. He hesitated to answer, and for one heart-stopping moment, Hermione permitted herself to hope he'd come back for her. Her hopes dwindled, however, when the fleeting instant of vulnerability that flashed before Draco's vision clouded over, and he once more lapsed into stony indifference.

"The Wizengamot found me in Scotland," He began bitterly. "And were threatening to return me to Headquarters. I faked a bout of amnesia, and then told them I had been horridly wronged and was returning home to finish my sentence and stay with my wife—that's you, _love_. They consented and dragged me here to Mungo's, in order to ensure that my mind was still in a state of sanity and not pounded to mush, like half of the fucking others were after the War." He paused here, stepping even closer to her. The tip of his nose just barely brushed against hers, and Hermione could feel his grey eyes grazing over her figure quickly.

"There was once a time," He began faintly, his voice low and quiet. "That those brown eyes would've done me in for. As it is, Hermione, things have changed. You ruined my life, and I'm here to fix it."

Hermione let out a choked sob, her lower lip quivering slightly. "Draco—I—please, I didn't mean to—" She was cut off from her apology by him roughly grabbing her face in one of his hands. His fingers pressed firmly against her jaw, and Draco gnashed his teeth together in anger.

"Save it," He spat. "For someone who cares. The least you can do is help me out. Now, the Wizengamot has agreed to drop the charges that were affiliated with your fuck-up last year _if _we agree to spend the next six months living together and trying to work out our marriage." He released his grip on her face and shoved her away from him, seemingly disgusted by the touch.

Hermione merely nodded her head weakly, her mind pounding viciously as she tried to process everything that was flying through her mind. He was right…she'd ruined any chance of normality he might've had. Her hunch had been wrong and she'd therefore wronged him more than she could bear. If she made this up to him, then perhaps the guilt would rise from her chest. Perhaps, she wouldn't cry herself to sleep every night anymore. Perhaps, she was being given a chance at redemption.

Perhaps.

"Once the time is complete," He said suddenly, his voice harsh and full of spite. "I'm leaving."

Hermione tried to mask the agony of his words by furrowing her brows in anger and clenching her fists, the blood under her skin starting to boil.

"I remember a time when those words never would have passed through your mouth, _Malfoy_. Or did you just seem to forget about loving me?"

He stopped, staring at her with cool and unforgiving eyes. It was a poor choice of words and she knew it. How could she have been so foolish as to bring up something so closely related to the incident? She saw a flicker of pain pass through his vision and then—as soon as it had arrived—it vanished. Hermione could tell in that moment of silence that what she'd said had hurt him, and she let herself feel a twinge of cruel satisfaction.

"I remember a lot of things," He said quietly, his tone cold and brittle. "But loving you is not one of them."

Hermione wished she could say that his words didn't sting her; didn't slap her and make her wish she were dead. But, the hard and bitter truth was, she still loved him. Despite her follies and despite his, she still loved the arrogant Pureblood bastard more than she was willing to let on. But she couldn't let him know—she couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she was prey to him. So she stood tall, blinked away the threatening tears in her eye, and set her jaw.

"Brilliant," She clipped out. "Then the following months should be a breeze."

The pair of ex-lovers glared at one another for several moments, their chests heaving with anger. Five minutes alone with the git and Hermione was already more than willing to pull her hair out. Funny, she'd almost forgotten how violently she reacted to him. Whether or not she missed it was another story entirely. Finally, she nodded her head, realizing she'd never answered his proposal.

"Right then," She hissed, glancing him up and down once. "But you're sleeping on the couch." She turned around as if to make her way to leave, wanting to be in solitude for a moment, but he followed her, cutting her off and pressing himself against the door as if to block her from leaving.

"The couch?" He barked. "You're making me sleep with the fucking cat?"

Hermione resisted the urge to laugh in his face. Instead, she narrowed her brown eyes into slits and parted her lips to speak.

"No, Crookshanks has been promoted to the bed."

"How sad, Granger. I'm gone for a year, and you've condescended to bestiality. Not that I'm surprised—you did date Weasley for quite a while."

"Malfoy! Ronald has done nothing to you—and how—how _dare_ you insult me like that! At least Ronald treated me better than you ever did!" She shrieked, flailing her arms about.

"You remember that when you recall the plethora of times you moaned my name in the middle of the night, Hermione," He responded, the amusement now evident in her voice. "_Not_ his." She stamped her foot in aggravation and shoved him aside, growling in anger.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"I prefer to go with irresistible, but whatever works for you," He responded, stepping aside and permitting her to open the door.

She groaned in aggravation, throwing the door open and storming out. She realized that Katie and Ginny were missing—figured. They were probably trying to give the couple time to reconcile. Hermione snorted at the idea. Brushing off her aggravation, she began to walk briskly down the corridor. She heard Draco clear his throat, and stopped, but dared not turn around.

"There's no need to worry, Granger," He called after her in a mocking sing-song voice. "I won't make the mistake of trusting you again. I'll be gone before you even realize it."

Hermione rolled her shoulders, stung by his comment, but proceeded to continue down the hall. As she rounded the corner, she raised her hands to brush the tears away from her eyes, her lower lip quivering violently.

The man she'd fallen in love with had returned, more bitter and determined to hate her than ever.

And Hermione knew she deserved every ounce of it.


	3. Orange Juice

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **I want to start off by thanking everyone who's taken an interest in this fic so far! I've had several people ask me what it was that Hermione did to make Draco so angry and what the "incident" was. Don't worry, it will reveal itself through time. I discuss a bit of it in this chapter to give you a general idea, but I'm waiting to reveal the extent of it until later, so you'll have to keep reading! Oh, and in case you haven't realized, some of the things in italics are memories. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Orange Juice<strong>

Draco was sitting in the flat he and Hermione had shared the duration of their marriage, spread out on the couch and reading a fresh copy of _The Daily Prophet_. He grumbled at what he read and allowed his eyes to scan over the brief article again.

_**Lost Malfoy Heir Found Once Again!**_

_ The unexplained disappearance of former Death Eater Draco Malfoy approximately twelve to thirteen months prior has resurfaced, as the Heir to the Malfoy Fortune has been discovered and has returned to London once more. The Wizengamot reports that his return is due to hopes for reconciliation with Healer and War Heroine wife Hermione Granger-Malfoy. Granger-Malfoy has no comment to make on the subject, and Malfoy has yet to be approached._

_ The Wizengamot has yet to disclose any information as to the whereabouts of Malfoy's exact location for the past year, and states that they plan to uphold him to his contract for the next half a year._

_ "Malfoy made an agreement three years ago," Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt says. "And he has to, by law, uphold the remainder of that contract for the following six months, or risk suspension of magic and imprisonment in Azkaban."_

_ The Marriage Law that was enacted by the Ministry three years prior in terms of the ex-Death Eater and the Gryffindor Golden Girl states that both members have to retain their marriage for a total of three to four years in order for Malfoy's conviction of his crimes against the Wizarding World during the Second Wizarding War—such as, but not limited to, his involvement in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, illegal use of curses on fellow students, underage magic and involvement in Voldemort's army—to be repented. Whether or not the two will remain in their lawful contract after the expiration date has transpired is yet to be determined._

Draco scoffed and crumpled up the paper, throwing it to the ground and grumbling obscenities to himself. He had barely returned and already the damn reporters were writing stories about him and making allegations. Just like the sodding fools to pretend that they knew him! As if they knew what he'd gone through.

The young Malfoy stood, stretching his limbs and running a hand through his mane of pale blonde hair. He stifled a yawn and shuffled to the kitchen, throwing the fridge open and frowning slightly. There was no orange juice. Hermione _always_ had orange juice readily available—she knew how much he always loved it. _Oh_. He stopped himself, closing his eyes and realizing that no, of _course_ she wouldn't have kept any damn orange juice…he'd been gone for a year. He slammed the door shut with an aggravated thud and turned around, slumping to the floor.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and cringed slightly, remembering a time when his life hadn't been so damn tumultuous. His vision began to burn hot and bright behind his closed eyelids, and he greedily succumbed to a fleeting whisper of a memory.

_Draco was sitting on the fire escape, clad in nothing but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. It was late October, and the moon was hanging high in the sky. It illuminated the streets below, casting a milky hue over all of London. He licked his dry lips and let out a rasping sigh, his eyes surveying the quiet area. He heard the clatter of slippers against the metal floor of the fire escape, and turned his head to see Hermione stepping out the window and moving to sit next to him._

_ In her hand, she held a glass of orange juice. She handed it to him silently, and made to scoot closer to him, their elbows brushing together in the process. Draco took a sip of the beverage, savoring the tangy taste and smacking his lips together._

_ "Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione whispered suddenly, lifting her hand to brush against his arm. His left arm turned over instinctively, and she traced the lines of his Mark in soothing circles. He studied the inky stain with disdain, and remained silent for several more moments._

_ "No," He answered finally, his voice taut. "The nightmares are always going to be there. I'm always going to see Him and think that the damn War isn't over. And I'm always going to be the same insufferable and elitist Pureblood I've always been." Hermione shook her head fervently, biting softly on her lower lip and lifting her hand to brush back his hair._

_ "Don't say that," She whispered fiercely. "Things are different now—__**you're **__different now. And I—I love you."_

_ Her protest hung in the air around them, dead and decaying words that refused to break through the barrier of Draco's mind._

_ "No," He said finally. "They're not. And don't say that to me again—I'd rather you loved someone who was capable of compassion." She stayed silent, obviously disturbed by his reaction, but didn't move. He just needed time, that was all._

Draco was awoken from his thoughts as he felt Crookshanks' tail brush against his foot. His eyes flew open, and he scowled half-heartedly at the animal before lifting his hand to stroke the old cat behind the ears. Grunting, Draco moved to stand, his back aching slightly. He let out a low groan and realized that just about nothing sounded better at the moment than a hot shower. Draco often spent time taking lengthy showers—the warm water relaxed his muscles and helped clear his head. Determined to receive at least a bit of satisfaction today, he made his way towards the master bedroom. He halted just inside the room, his eyes lingering on the king-sized bed he and Hermione had shared. It looked relatively the same, and he felt a pang of longing as his eyes grazed over the left side of the bed—_his_ side. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from his mind, he padded towards the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind him, he noticed how much more feminine the place looked. It had lost all touch of masculinity, and Draco snatched a soft towel and wash cloth from the linen closet and turned the spout on full blast, waiting for the water to heat up. When he felt that the water had finally reached a level close to scalding hot, Draco slipped his clothes off quickly and stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind him. He lifted his head, letting the water rain down on his face and dribble down his body; coating him in a thin layer of liquid. He sighed—slightly in relief as the water unhinged his muscles—and slightly in exasperation at his situation.

He brushed the water from his eyes and moved down to pick up a bottle of shampoo, studying it closely. His fingers ran across the label, and he recognized the strawberry shampoo as the same kind that Hermione had used for years. He popped the lid of the shampoo slowly and lifted it to his nose, inhaling the scent. His eyes closed for a minute, and he exhaled slowly. Yes, it still smelled like her; he could recall the aroma anywhere. He closed the lid, determined not to spend his time fixated on Hermione.

It was difficult, considering she occupied the majority of his thoughts. His slick hands gripped the shampoo bottle tightly, and he gritted his teeth in frustration as he recalled the final days of happiness the pair had shared.

_Vile little Mudblood…_He thought to himself, his mind pounding with the onslaught of memories that wished to force their way into his mind. But he shoved them aside, determined not to let her slip back into his cracks as she originally had.

_Vile, cruel, perfect little Mudblood._

And then, his mind couldn't stop itself from reciting things of their past. Rituals of the pair of them taking showers together; the way the water trickled down the dip in her breasts. Angered by the betrayal of his mind, Draco threw the bottle of shampoo on the ground and staggered backward, slipping on the cool tile floor and colliding with the floor. His back smacked against the hard tile of the shower, and he hissed a slur of obscenities and cursed his rotten luck. Draco pounded his fist into the wall of the shower, the action causing his fist to ache and throb. He grabbed fistfuls of his damp blonde hair in his hands and ran his nails across the surface of his scalp, squeezing his eyes shut.

He was far too close to Hermione for comfort, and if he wasn't careful, he'd succumb to the same emotions he had all those months ago.

When Draco had finally managed to finish his shower, he stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing the soft white cloth on his head, towel-drying his hair. He then drew the towel down to his waist, wrapping and tying the material so that it hung low on his pelvis. He was about to cross the room to fish around for a spare set of clothes he'd brought with him in his suitcase when he halted. The sudden presence of another figure in the room caused every muscle to tense, and he stood taller, his eyes trailing over the petite figure of none other than Hermione herself. Out of habit, his grey eyes glazed into cold and impassive rigidity, and he regarded her with a set jaw.

Her mouth hung slightly ajar, and Draco watched as her soft brown eyes instinctively trailed over his half-naked body. He watched as her knees buckled slightly underneath her, and he licked his lips, staring at her in silence. She was still wearing her scrubs, and he watched as she nibbled on her lower lip. She clutched a grocery bag in her hand, and he raised one blonde brow inquisitively and pointed to it, trying not to think about the fact that he was so…indecent in front of her.

"What's that?"

She looked down at the bag she was holding with a bemused expression encompassing her features, as though she'd forgotten she was clutching anything.

"Oh, well, it's—I just went and picked up some orange juice," She responded in a dream-like state. Her eyes rose to meet his again, this time significantly less puzzled. "I know how much you love it." He nodded his head slightly, the muscles in his jaw still stiff. His back ached from where he'd fallen in the shower, and he walked with a slight limp in his step.

Hermione, always the observant one, turned around and set the plastic bag on the counter and walked over to him, an inquisitive gaze on her face.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her question more of a command for him to tell her the truth; a warning not to lie. He rolled his eyes, bitterly recognizing just how accustomed to the bossy Witch he was.

"It's none of your damn business," He spat, limping towards the couch. He shoved his trunk onto the soft cushions roughly and jerked the lid open, searching for a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. He noticed her relentless glare and hissed under his breath, standing tall and twisting around to glare at her.

"What are you getting at, standing around and watching me?" He barked, his lips pulling back into a slight snarl. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip and Hermione reached out a hand towards his leg, her brows knit together. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, his rattling breaths audible in his chest.

"And what, _exactly_," He hissed. "Do you think you're doing?"

"I—I was just—_Draco_, your kneecap is discolored and bruised! I was just trying to help, Godric!"

He realized how close they were to one another in that instance. The tips of her breasts—covered only by the thin layer of her scrubs—brushing against his bare torso. His hand circled around her tiny wrist, and his fingers pressed into her skin. He stared at her in silence for a moment, his eyes undergoing a variety of emotions. Finally, a small grunt of discontent emanated from the back of his throat, and he lunged himself back into the reality of the situation at hand.

"Well don't," He spat, shoving her away from him. "You've helped enough over the past year."

Hermione staggered back, her curly hair bouncing around her face. She opened her mouth to speak, her brown eyebrows furrowing in a mixture of anger, hurt and confusion.

"I wish you'd just forgive me!" She shrieked, gaining her balance and stepping forward. He blinked a few times in surprise, his face contorting into disgust and confusion. _Forgive _her? She wanted him to _forgive _her? She'd never even offered him a proper apology, for Merlin's Sake! He scoffed at her remark and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his fingers twitching slightly.

He settled his stony grey eyes on her, his glare full of contempt and resentment.

"I will _never_—" He dragged the word out, the absolute finality of it all dripping from his tongue like acid. "—forgive you." His chest heaved with the anger that was radiating off of him, and Hermione recoiled, as if she'd been slapped.

"It's been a _year_," She whispered fiercely, tears brimming in her eyes. "A year, Draco. What do you want from me?"

He paused, uncertain how to answer her question. What he wanted from her and what he needed from her were two different things entirely, and Draco wasn't about to admit anything resembling vulnerability to her. She might pounce on the emotions again.

"What do I want from you?" He croaked incredulously. "It's too late. I wanted my fucking memories back, Hermione."

"But, Dr—Malfoy, you said you have your memories back," Hermione whispered, confusion clouding her eyes.

"I do…now," He said simply. "But I'd wanted the Mudblood bitch who took them from me _without my permission_ to be the one to give them back to me."

Hermione winced slightly, the insult stinging her. She stared after him for a few moments, swaying slightly on her feet, and Draco noted that she looked unsure as how to address him. He glanced her once up and down and jabbed his finger in the direction of the bedroom, still seething.

"_Go_!" He barked, disgusted by the sight of her. She jumped, evidently startled by his sudden anger, and tried to avoid his gaze. Hermione brushed her hair behind her ear and shuffled across the room. Draco suspected she wasn't leaving because he'd requested her to—that wasn't that way Hermione was built and he knew it. She was leaving because of the guilt; the topic of discussion making her uncomfortable and gnawing at her insides, more than likely.

As she entered the bedroom, Draco grasped the cool knob and slammed it shut behind her, his rage causing his hands to twitch violently. He inhaled sharply through his mouth, gulping down pockets of airin an attempt to steady himself and clear his mind. He crossed the room and slumped down on the couch, running his hands through his hair as he stared at the soft carpet at his feet.

"Fucking Mudbloods," He muttered in disgust. "If you don't train them right away, they just shite all over you."


	4. Little White Dress

_**Redemption**_

**a/N**: Alright, so I've got a few ideas I'm toying with, and this chapter is set up so that any of them can work properly. I want to thank everyone for reading, and hope you all have a great day!

**Chapter Four: Little White Dress**

It was a Saturday night. Saturday, meaning that Draco Malfoy had been home and residing in the same closed space with Hermione for approximately one week and one day. Somehow, the pair had managed to avoid one another thus far, given their last confrontation shortly after his arrival. And as the young Witch prepared for her night out with her friends, she breathed slowly and shallowly at the thought of spending the next six months in the same space as him. Everything had ended so harshly and abruptly before, and she knew Draco better than to just assume that he was going to forget the past—especially after their confrontation the week previously.

Really, she was just ticking down the hours until he'd question her about her motives, and blame her for things that weren't really her fault at all. She sighed heavily, placing a small diamond stud necklace around her neck and staring at her reflection in the mirror that occupied her bedroom. She'd managed to get her mass of curls under control, and the soft strands of loose curls framed her face and spilled across her shoulders. She wore a simple white frock that dipped slightly at the chest, accentuating her cleavage. She picked up her bottle of rose-scented perfume and spritzed it on her chest, dabbing at it as she gave herself a final glance over.

She was going out with Ginny, Harry and Ron to dinner in order to celebrate Harry and Ginny's engagement. She figured that dressed nice without overdoing it would do the job just fine, but still, she wanted to make sure she looked decent enough so that_ he_ couldn't make some crude comment as she was leaving. Hermione made her way to the entrance of her bedroom, stepping through the frame and closing the door behind her. Her short black heels sunk into the carpet as she made her way across the entrance room, determined not to look at Draco, who was seated on the couch, reading.

He looked up from his book at the sight of her, his eyes taking in her general appearance before shrugging and returning to his novel. She exhaled in relief, clutching her stomach with the realization that maybe—just _maybe_—he was going to refrain from being a git tonight. As she reached the front door and grabbed her clutch, however, she realized that such dreams were far too overreaching to be realistic.

"I was under the impression—" He said coolly with Hermione's back facing him, and she heard the sound of crinkling paper, as though he were turning a page in the book he was reading. "—that white was only to be worn as a symbol of purity in women. Last time I checked, you were anything but."

"_Malfoy_," She spat, turning around on her heel to face him. He was still staring at his book, his face virtually expressionless. "You're the only man I've ever…well, _you know_…and I suggest you keep your crude comments to yourself!"

A hint of a smirk tugged on the corners of Draco's mouth, but he still continued to keep his eyes glued to the book in front of him, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Given the outfit you're wearing," He drawled casually. "I assume that you're hoping to change that tonight. Best remind Weasley when he's pleasuring you that you're a woman, and not an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Hermione wretched, rolling her eyes and scoffing in disgust. He always had to make some vulgar comment about her—if she had to handle this for the next six months, she'd find another way out of the marriage. Damn her guilt to Hell, this was unbearable!

"Oh, go to Hell!" Hermione shrieked, opening the door with fumbling hands. She stepped out into the hall of the complex and was about to shut the door behind her when she heard Draco snicker.

"I'm already there, Hermione," He called, and she slammed the door, blocking him from making any more commentary.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you've got to put up with him for the next six weeks?" Harry asked, probing at the lone meatball on his plate of spaghetti. The four friends had made reservations as a dimly-lit and high end Italian restaurant for the occasion, and the talk kept drifting back to Draco's sudden reappearance, much to Hermione's dismay. Ron made a low snort of annoyance at her side, and Hermione picked up her glass of wine, taking a sip and letting the fruity liquid slip down her throat before she dared reply.<p>

"Don't worry about it," She said shortly, waving her best friend off with the gesture of her hand. "I've got everything under control."

Harry raised his eyes to stare at Hermione, a concerned and uncertain look inhabiting his bright green eyes.

"Just drop it, Harry," Ginny whispered, elbowing her fiancé and giving Hermione a reassuring grin. Hermione returned the friendly gesture with a weak smile, attacking the lasagna in front of her with her fork. She picked up a piece of the pasta and put it to her lips, chewing thoughtfully. She didn't want to talk about Draco—not tonight. She wanted them to have one night of fun; discussing the marriage plans and reflecting back on their days at Hogwarts.

"Still a rotten git, if you ask me," Ron grumbled, twirling his fork and inhaling a large mouthful of spaghetti.

Hermione's hand tightened around her cooking utensil, and she turned to glare at Ron, not wanting to hear another tirade about how displeased he was with Malfoy. Despite the fact that he'd been acting like a royal arse ever since he'd arrived, Hermione still felt the need to defend him. Call it her pride for being married to him or the defenses she built from when the two were intimate, she found the anger boiling underneath her skin at her friend's insult of her Pureblood husband.

"Fortunately, _Ronald_," She spat through clenched teeth. "No one asked you what you thought."

Ginny shot Ron a warning look, and cleared her throat, deciding it best to change the subject.

"So," Ginny began, setting her fork down and pushing aside her half-eaten salad. "Harry and I were thinking about having a small wedding. What d'you guys think?"

Ron shrugged indifferently, slumping down in his seat and pouting. Hermione had a feeling he was going to act so detached for the remainder of the evening, so she perked up, pushing her troubled marriage thoughts from her mind.

"Oh, Ginny, I think that sounds lovely!" Hermione exclaimed, sitting up and cutting off a piece of her lasagna. She forked the helping into her mouth, forcing a smile. "But, I don't think Mrs. Weasley will be too pleased with it. You're her only daughter; she's going to want to go out with a bang. Besides, you're not just marrying anyone, Ginny—you're marrying _Harry_, and to her, that's a huge deal."

Ginny groaned inwardly, running a hand through her brilliant red hair.

"Don't remind me," She said in exasperation. "Mum acts as though she hasn't got six other kids. All she says is 'Ginny this' and 'Harry that.' It's as if she's never been to a wedding before!" Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and busied himself with finishing up the remainder of his food, not wanting to get involved in Ginny's family matters. Hermione chuckled to herself; Harry was always so wary that he was going to upset Arthur and Molly when concerning their daughter, and typically grew quiet whenever one of them was discussed.

"Well," Hermione continued thoughtfully. "You could always try talking to her. It couldn't hurt." Ginny shrugged half-heartedly, clearly not convinced. Hermione sighed and took two more bites of her lasagna before pushing the plate away, too full to even attempt to finish what was in front of her.

The waiter came with their check, and once the four had finished divvying up the bill, Hermione looked up from her purse to notice that her three friends were staring at her apprehensively.

"What?" She asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the movies with us?" Ginny asked, shifting in her seat. Harry nodded his head solemnly and Ron just looked at her, an intent gaze settled on his face. Slowly, Hermione's eyes met with each of her friends, and finally, she shook her head.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't," She declined. "I have some filing to do at home for work, and tonight's the only time I really have to do it." Hermione watched as Harry and Ginny exchanged a look of concern, but she chose to ignore the fact that she'd caught them. She slid out of the booth after Ron, turning to offer Harry and Ginny a forced congratulatory smile. She held her arms out and wrapped Ginny into a hug, squeezing gently before turning to Harry, who pulled her into a sisterly embrace. She pulled back and smiled at both of them, her lips curling upwards as she said, "I'm so happy for the two of you. If anyone deserves some happiness and peace after the mess of a War, it's the two of you."

Ginny smiled sheepishly at her, and Hermione turned to leave, nearly bumping into Ron. She nodded her head towards him and deigned to give him a one-armed hug, not sure exactly what sort of friendly terms the two were on. Ron, after the disappearance of Draco nearly a year ago, had tried to pry back into Hermione's life. After several failed attempts and Hermione's insistence that he move on, the youngest male of the Weasley clan had grown undeniably bitter and cross towards her in all social situations.

After bidding her friends goodbye, Hermione exited the restaurant, turning a sharp corner and ducking into an alleyway. Looking around to ensure that no one was watching her, she Apparated to the pub closest to her flat. She walked inside with trembling limbs, seated herself at the bar, and rubbed her aching forehead.

The bartender made his way over to her, polishing a glass as his eyes slid over her figure. She threw him a warning glare and stood straighter, shaking her hair from her eyes.

"And what can I get for you?" He asked. "Martini? A tonic?"

Hermione fished around in her purse, grabbing a wad of money and slamming it down on the table.

"I want vodka straight up. And keep them coming."

* * *

><p>Hermione had downed a handful of shots of vodka, and was suddenly gripped with nausea. She paid the barkeep her final bill for the night and left the pub, staggering in her heels as she went. She'd gone into the bar with the idea of forgetting all about Draco and her problems, but the more she succumbed to the alcohol, the more she thought about him. He invaded her thoughts and permeated her mind; he overwhelmed her, and she bitterly realized how aggravating that was. Damn him! Who was he to invade the privacy of her thoughts like that?<p>

Too tipsy to Apparate, Hermione made her way back to the flat on foot; staggering over herself every few feet or so. She cursed herself for wearing heels, and when she finally made it to her apartment building, sighed in defeat and trudged up the stairs, a dull pounding overwhelming her head.

Reaching her door, she struggled to find her keys from inside of her clutch and then fumbled with the lock. Finally getting the door opened, she staggered inside of the apartment, yawning and kicking off her shoes. The sudden desire to curl up in bed and go to sleep enveloped her, and her clumsy movements were due more so to the fact that she was tired rather than the fact that she was tipsy.

She flipped on the light and slipped out of her dress, running a hand through her curls and preparing to find a fresh pair of pajamas to slip into.

At least, that was the plan until her eyes turned to the sitting room, and she saw a pair of grey eyes set on a cruelly amused, pale face staring at her with interest.

_Bugger_. She'd forgotten Draco was there. How could she have forgotten? He was the entire sodding reason she'd left her friends in favor of the bar in the first place!

Hermione watched Draco's eyes rove over her, and she looked down, suddenly realizing she was only clothed in a pair of knickers and a bra. Gasping, she bent down and retrieved her dress, shielding her body from him and swallowing heavily.

She watched nervously as Draco stood and slowly walked towards her, his lips turned upwards into the slightest whisper of a smirk.

"I must say, I didn't think you'd take my hint about wearing white to heart."

She tried to glare at him or bite back a stinging retort, but found herself unable to do so. She just stared at him with wide, saucer-like eyes, unable to do anything. Unable to breathe. Unable to focus on anything but the dip in his lips and the way they curved.

"I—I forgot…" She trailed off, realizing she more than likely didn't make any sense. Draco sniffed, his nose wrinkling slightly.

"You're drunk," He stated, disappointment lacing his tone. "I thought you'd stopped that."

Hermione shook her head slowly, the movement sending a dull ache through her neck. She nibbled on her bottom lip, at a complete loss for words. His masculine scent wafted up her nose, and she greedily inhaled—she remembered it too well: the smell of cologne and firewood. It was intoxicating, and Hermione licked her dry lips slowly.

Draco shifted closer to her, and lifted a hand to grasp the fabric of the dress she was holding. He gently pried it from her hands and balled it in his fists, tossing it to the floor.

"I told you," He said, his voice suddenly sounding faint. "Not to wear white."

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes fluttering closed and her lips parted in anticipation. Her breath shuddered, and her head grew dizzy as she waited for his response. Just when she was beginning to feel foolish for even thinking he'd make any sort of move in the first place, she felt a pair of lips brush against hers. They were soft, sweet, and excruciatingly familiar. The fire in her abdomen ignited, and she pressed her lips harder against his. His mouth opened on command, and their tongues twisted together and struggled for dominance. Hermione wanted to memorize it—every inch of his lips against hers. The soft texture of his mouth; the way his lips molded to hers. A soft moan escaped her lips, and Draco broke his lips away from her, staggering back with a heated glare in his eyes.

"I—I thought you didn't care anymore," Hermione slurred, stumbling forward. Draco jerked back and hissed, the sound terrifying in the dark and silence of the spacious flat.

"I don't," He spat. "Now go the fuck to bed and leave me alone, _Mrs. Malfoy_."

She stared at him, her chest heaving with anger, hurt and confusion. Her breath came out in rasping wisps, and tears began to blur her vision.

"_Fuck _you," She croaked, her lips trembling.

"You already have," He answered coolly, taking a step back. "Several times, I might add."

She choked back a sob at his response and made her way towards her bedroom, snatching her dress off the ground and shielding herself again, her tears spilling over and coating her cheeks.

"I hate you, Draco," She wailed in her intoxicated state, throwing the door open clumsily. "Get your damn sentence repealed—I don't care what you do after that. I _hate _you." With a short hiccup, she slammed her door shut, locking it and slumping against the door. She slid to the ground and fished her wand out of her purse, placing a Silencing Charm on her room.

In her solitude, she began to cry. Despite everything he'd said and done, she just couldn't bear to hate him. And maybe that was the reason she sobbed so mercilessly for the remainder of the night—because she cared too much to do so otherwise.


	5. The Gift

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **So that I don't spoil anything, this is all I have to say: it goes in my plan to make it happen this fast. Just saying. Anyways, enjoy everyone, and thanks for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: The Gift<strong>

_Draco walked down the narrow and dimly-lit corridor, the sounds of laughter and music from the ball room dying down. The area seemed stuffy somehow; this wing of Malfoy Manor was generally unused by Lucius and Narcissa both—the empty sitting rooms collecting dust. The air was warm, and smelled of decay. His footsteps padded softly against the expensive wood flooring of the claustrophobia-inducing corridor, and he opened at door at the end of the hall. A soft beam of light spilled into the room, casting a shadow over everything. The light illuminated the silhouette of a young woman in an extravagant lilac-colored strapless dress that was stained along the front; the full skirt billowing out around her, tangling around the legs of the chair she was hunched over in._

_As Draco stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the small sitting room once more became enveloped in darkness. He closed the distance between himself and the distraught Witch, the only sound being that of her occasional sniffles._

"_Hermione," He murmured softly, kneeling down in front of her and raising a hand to brush the tears from her face. "It doesn't matter; don't listen to them."_

_She raised her face to meet his eyes with a stony glare encompassing her features._

"_They__** humiliated **__me, Draco," She whispered, her voice wavering. "When Pansy spilled her food on my dress and they all just__** laughed**__; and then the—oh, the comment about me Obliviating my parents and how I should just join the House Elves after dinner was complete, because that was clearly where I belonged…it was just like being back at school again! Nothing's changed, Draco. They'll never accept me."_

_Draco shook his head slowly, his brows furrowing as he cupped her tear-stained face in his hands._

"_Just forget about them," He said sternly, shushing her when she opened her mouth to protest. "They don't understand, is all. The War might not have changed their views on things, but it has mine. They still think I don't care at all about the outcome of this marriage…about you."_

_Hermione paused for a moment, letting his words sink in and allowing her brown eyes to search his silver ones before responding with, "And do you?"_

"_Do I what?"_

"_Do you care…abo—about me?"_

_There was a long beat of silence as Draco's thumb absent-mindedly stroked her cheek before he decided to respond._

"_Always."_

Draco lurched forward from his position on the couch, his breath hitching in his throat. He gasped for air, running a trembling hand through his blonde hair as his grey eyes searched the room frantically. Noticing he was still in the flat, his muscles loosened instantly, and he cursed himself for letting his defenses down as he blinked and relaxed. He steadied his breathing, running his hands up and down the length of his bare arms and cleared his throat. He hated when he dreamt about her—the memories enveloped him, and in his state of unconsciousness, he couldn't halt the images or resist the intoxicating feel of them.

He was preparing to flop back down on the couch when he heard a sniffle. Intrigued, he raised one blonde brow and shoved away from the sofa, padding towards the kitchen, his muscles tensed. He flipped on the light and blinked rapidly as his grey eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Once his vision had adjusted well enough, he noticed where the source of the noise was coming from: _Hermione_.

She was seated at the kitchen table, her eyes bloodshot and her face red and blotchy. Dried tears coated both of her cheeks, and she was nibbling viciously on her lower lip. She stared at him with a hard glare, seeming too exhausted to bother fighting.

"You were having another nightmare," She rasped, the words more of a statement than a question.

"Not exactly," He murmured, moving to slump down in the chair opposite her. She studied him for several moments, her glare that of confusion, anger, and resentment. He scowled heartily at her, twiddling his thumbs together as the two passed the time in silence on opposite sides of the breakfast table.

"Would you like a cup of tea or something?" Hermione asked suddenly, her nose stuffy and her voice thick. Draco grunted and stood to move, heading towards the cabinets. He opened the doors until locating their old kettle and the set of tea bags. He busied himself putting the kettle on, refusing to look at her. When she cleared her throat, he sighed in exasperation.

"I'm perfectly capable of making a damn beverage myself," He hissed, growing aggravated by her presence. He wanted to wallow in his self-pity alone, and didn't need _her_ here to fuck things up for him again. When she made no response, he pinched the bridge of his nose and stood in silence for several more moments, letting the after-math of his anger simmer between them. The whistling of the tea kettle awoke him from his thoughts, and he jumped, startled. Grumbling to himself in aggravation, he jerked the kettle off the stove and occupied himself with making a mug of tea. He grabbed the steaming cup of tea and walked slowly towards the table. He moved to sit down, placed the mug on the table, and moved to scoot it across the surface towards Hermione. She stared at him, perplexed and wary.

"What are you doing?" She asked in a hoarse voice, bemusement clouding her eyes. He shrugged stiffly, his grey eyes glancing over her quickly.

"You look like shit," He stated. "Now drink up. You know you don't like it when your tea goes cold."

She stared at him, still clearly uncertain as to whether or not she should accept what appeared to be a peace offering. Finally, she picked up the mug and lifted it to her mouth, placing her lips around the rim and sipping quietly. She made a low hum of content and relaxed her shoulders, curling her legs underneath her in the chair she sat in, licking her lips and savoring the taste of her drink.

"Thank you," She said softly once she'd swallowed, her voice coming out a bit crisper and less scratchy. He nodded curtly, drumming his fingers against the table and looking around the kitchenette in aggravation, unsure as to what to do with himself. He realized she was studying him, but was too exhausted to even bother to make a snide comment. He let her eyes trail over his bare torso, becoming slightly self-conscious of the scars that resided on his lower abdomen.

"Do you still hate me for what I did?" She asked softly, her voice suddenly filling the room. He turned his cold eyes on her, the muscles in his jaw suddenly tightening.

"Yes," He lied.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair, setting the mug down and pursing her lips thoughtfully.

"Do you remember…" She began again, her voice low and tender. "Around a year and a half ago, I was really cross with you because you'd forgotten our anniversary? I swore I'd never forgive you for it, but then you made it up to me by giving me a very specific sort of _gift_? And then suddenly, I wasn't upset with you anymore. I got over it. Do you recall how, even though you hurt me, I was able to get past it?"

Draco tensed suddenly, his eyes narrowing into slits as he eyed her with caution.

"Forgetting an anniversary is nothing compared to what you did," He hissed in a low voice, his fingers tingling slightly. She sighed in exasperation and rubbed her arm slowly.

"I know. That's not what I'm trying to say."

"Then what _are_ you trying to get at, exactly?"

"I—" She inhaled sharply, debating whether or not she should finish her thought. "I want to give you the same type of gift."

"Hermione…" He said testily, one brow shooting forward. "I hardly think a decent shagging is going to fix any of this."

She shook her head fervently, her curly hair bouncing around her face. "I know it won't, Draco. I'm not asking for it to. I just…I need to do this."

He stared at her for a handful of seconds, his critical eyes grazing over her, as if he could detect whether or not she was lying just by a quick glance.

"This doesn't change anything," He said suddenly, making sure the terms were clear.

"I know, I know," She breathed, moving to stand with trembling legs.

Draco watched her with more interest than he could bear as she wobbled towards the bedroom, her legs shaking underneath her. He halted in his spot, unsure as to whether or not he should actually go through with the arrangement. His body—unfortunately—still ached and craved for her, and a shag without the promise of sentiments was a good excuse for him to get close to her again. His chest ached and thudded in excitement at the thought of caressing her after a year's worth of absence, and his mind hissed and scolded him for being such a fucking prat. He was supposed to be taking revenge on the bitch for what she'd done, not getting involved again!

His emotions quickly overturned his reason, and his legs dragged him to the bedroom once he'd noticed she'd disappeared from the doorframe. He turned to shut the door behind them, hearing the lock click and clutching the knob for support. He heard the water running in the bathroom and squeezed his eyes shut, fleeting images of a memory overwhelming him.

_"Draco, there's nothing that you could say that could fix this…" Hermione whispered hoarsely, leaning against the tub._

_ "I know," He responded flatly. "So I'm going to show you."_

Draco was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of the shower whistling slightly as the water grew hotter. He exhaled heavily and turned, dragging his feet into the bathroom. Steam clouded his vision initially, but his eyes soon caught hold of Hermione, who was standing in front of the opened shower with a blue towel wrapped around her.

She looked at him with a curious expression on her features—one of intrigue and apprehension. In a dream-like state, he stepped forward, closing the space that separated them and placing his tongue between his teeth. She looked up at him anxiously, her brown eyes growing wide. Draco's hands trailed down to the hem of his cotton pajama bottoms, and he pulled them down slowly, letting the clothing fall in a pool at his feet. He stepped out of the trousers, and lifted his hand to gently latch onto the thin towel that separated them. At command, Hermione dropped her hands and he pulled the cloth off of her, letting it fall to the floor.

Before he could gaze at her in the entirety of her nudeness, she moved backwards, stepping into the bathroom and motioning for him to join her. Draco followed her, shutting the shower door behind them. The steam enveloped them, and Draco greedily succumbed to the warmth. He gazed around the small shower before setting his eyes on her. It had been so long, and yet she was exactly the way he remembered her. The curves of her thighs; the freckle above her kneecap. The dip in her breasts; her slender waist. Everything was the same, and it made his eyes burn. The water coated them—it fell off her body in rivulets, causing her skin to appear silky and slippery. He ran his hands through her damp hair, feeling her curls stick to his fingers.

"Draco," She breathed shakily. "Do you still love me?"

"No," He croaked, his abdomen twisting.

"Wh—why not?" She cried suddenly, her eyes fluttering dangerously as his hands massaged her scalp.

"Because I can't."

He watched her eyes threaten to overflow with tears, but she bit back the emotion, evidently determined not to crack in front of him. She leaned forward suddenly, severing the distance between their mouths as she crashed into him. His mouth reluctantly opened for her, his mind still buzzing with regret for launching himself into such a situation. His tongue shoved its way into her mouth, and collided with hers in the struggle for dominance. Draco twisted his torso, pressing her against the wall of the shower as she feverishly kissed him. The water from the shower spout dribbled down his back in small streams, and he shivered slightly as the scalding water coated his skin. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, and his hands trailed over her nude body. His fingers traced the undersides of her breasts, slick with water and soft to the touch. He was rewarded with a small moan, and Hermione pressed her body against him, her nipples brushing against his bare chest.

"Draco…" She whispered, shifting her hips so that her clit brushed against his erection.

"Don't," He barked suddenly, the muscle behind his navel igniting as the lust soon began to overwhelm his senses. "You'll ruin it."

She reluctantly kept quiet, and moved to kiss his neck. He shivered slightly at the touch, and his hands trailed to grip either side of her waist. He stared straight ahead, determined not to look at her as she peppered kisses across his slippery chest, licking his dry lips once in anticipation. The feeling of her lips against his skin left a hot and burning imprint, and made him want more of her. He subconsciously rubbed his abdomen against her, which caused a small hum of pleasure to tumble from Hermione's lips.

Without hesitation, Hermione wrapped one leg around Draco's waist, pulling him closer to her. The stiff member between his thighs twitched pleasurably, and brushed against the lips of her cunt. Inhaling a shaky breath, Hermione reached her hands up to run through his sopping wet hair, her fingers playing with the silky blonde strands.

"You're just as beautiful as I remember you," She murmured, almost as if to herself. Their eyes locked for a moment, and the pair of confused former lovers stared at each other, trying to communicate the impossible. The sound of rushing water filled Draco's ears, and his stomach lurched with the desire to get as close to her as possible. He crushed his lips against her, pushing his hips forward and allowing his cock to enter her. He cried loudly at the feeling of him being inside of her—it was something he missed, much to his dismay.

The way her cunt formed to him; the way her muscles contracted around him as he pounded himself deeper inside of her caused him to shudder in desire. Her grip on his hair tightened and she let out a throaty moan, arching her back and digging her nails into his scalp.

"Draco, oh, _oh_ Draco!" She moaned, rocking her hips against him. He slipped out of her before driving himself inside of her again, his pelvis rocking against hers. His flesh was slick and slipped around inside of her, and he twisted himself, entering her at angles that he missed and so longingly wished he could stay inside of forever. He raised a trembling hand to grip her mass of curly hair and yanked her neck backwards so that she was staring up at him. His emotions were in a tumultuous state, and his face looked horrific as he gave her a hearty snarl.

"Don't say it," He hissed through bouts of pleasure surging inside of him. "Don't say those three words I know you're aching to say, and I'll push you to the end of desire. Don't say them, and we'll be fine."

His threat out of the way, he dropped his hand, placing his palms against the wall as he bucked against her. Hermione silently arched her back, her slippery breasts rubbing heatedly against the skin of his torso, and she moaned in agonizing pleasure. Draco returned her moans with low grunts as all of his blood rushed to the throbbing member situated between his legs.

They moved together rhythmically, as if it was something they were used to. As if they'd been doing this their entire life. As Hermione's hands ran through his hair, Draco shuddered in lust-filled desire, and he pulled out to thrust inside of her a final time. With a final ear-splitting cry, his walls came tumbling down and he came inside of her. He felt his orgasm overwhelm his body, and white hot blots of heat corroded his vision. He bit down on his lip fiercely, and he felt Hermione tremor against him. Her hands flew from his hair to maintain a sturdy grip on his arms, and her hips rocked against him as she cried, moaning his name one final time as her climax surged within her. He felt her cunt fill as she came in response to his delicious release of ecstasy, and he moaned at the excruciating familiarity of it all.

Slumping against one another as they wound down from their mutual climaxes, Hermione slipped and tumbled to the floor, bringing Draco down with her. Their chests were heaving as both of them struggled to catch their breath, and Draco refused to look at her for several minutes, instead fixing his gaze on a cracked tile in the wall.

Finally, Hermione reached a hand out to stroke his cheek, but Draco flinched and scooted away. Confused, she recoiled her hand and dropped it to her lap, her brown brows knitting together.

"Don't touch me," He barked, struggling to stand. He glared down at her, his chest heaving angrily. "I told you that you could do that, but it doesn't mean I forgive you. It doesn't mean you're allowed to touch me now like that—it doesn't mean I give a fuck."

Aggravated with himself and aggravated with her, he threw the door open and stepped out, his legs trembling beneath him. He snatched a clean towel from the open linen closet and tied it around his waist, turning to face her.

"Draco," She said suddenly, still lying on the shower floor. "I thought—the way you acted in there…"

"Nothing's changed, Hermione," He said coolly. "You still Obliviated me a year ago and left me for dead. A quick fuck in the shower's not going to change that."

Giving her a final heated glare, Draco turned and slipped from the room, his body shaking as he slammed the door to the master bedroom shut. He barely had time to make it to the rubbish bin in the kitchen before he heaved all of the food he'd eaten that day. Shaking, he slumped against the floor and pressed his head against the kitchen cabinet.

Shagging her like that was supposed to make him feel better. It was supposed to serve as closure for him and erase all of the memories the two shared. It was supposed to serve as his revenge against her.

Instead, it just made him realize how much he missed.


	6. The Weasel and the Ferret

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! I'd like to start off first by thanking everyone who's taken an interest and who enjoys the story thus far! It's also been suggested that I start coming up with song recs for the chapters. I don't really have a song to recommend for this chapter, but I guess I can go ahead and say that Christmas songs, Green Day and Linkin Park all served as my "friends" as I wrote this chapter. Well, enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: The Weasel and the Ferret<strong>

Hermione had managed to avoid Draco for the majority of the morning following their incident in the shower by staying locked in her room. But as the hours dragged on and her stomach grew more and more impatient for food, Hermione realized she couldn't put off the inevitable face-off any longer. Climbing out of bed and running a hand through her hair, she made her way across the bedroom and opened the door, holding her breath in anticipation.

She crossed the sitting room, and almost turned around and ran directly back into the bedroom when she noticed Draco sitting at the kitchen table, reading_ The Daily Prophet_ and nibbling on a piece of toast. What the hell had gotten into her the night before? Why had she offered herself to Draco again? Did she think that it would have fixed everything—that he would have realized he still cared for her, and forgiven her? Whatever her motives were, Hermione had been foolish and naïve last night. And the guilt shone on her face radiantly.

Timidly, she moved around to take a seat opposite him, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl at the center of the table and chewing thoughtfully, staring at him. Almost as if he could feel her gaze on him, he let the corners of the newspaper sag, his face suddenly becoming exposed to her. He glared at her coldly and with minimal interest, and Hermione stopped mid-chew, unable to say anything for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she swallowed the bit of apple still in her mouth, inhaled sharply, and began.

"Listen, Draco, about last night, I really think—"

He waved her off with his hand, pretending to grow once more engrossed with the latest edition of the _Prophet._

"No, Draco, we really need to talk about it," She said more clearly, exhaling through her nose.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He clipped out, cocking one eyebrow slightly. "Nothing happened last night."

_Nothing happened last night. _Hermione felt her heart sputter erratically in her chest; her palms growing sweaty as she felt her stomach drop. He dared to sit there and act as if nothing happened? As if they hadn't been intimate only hours before? He had the _audacity _to brush it off and ignore it like that?

"You can't hide behind your wall of impassive indifference forever, Draco," Hermione said suddenly, her voice growing in volume and confidence. "It's going to come tumbling down sooner or later."

"And when it does," Draco began curtly, his lips curling back into a sneer. But he dared not look at her; merely grazed his eyes over the inky pages before him. "I'll just find shelter in the rodent's nest you call hair."

Hermione, angered by his comment, slammed her half-eaten apple down on the table and began to tremble with rage.

"_Damnit_, Draco!" She shrieked, rising from her chair to glare down at him. "We need to get one thing straight here, alright? You can be angry with me all you please for what I did to you, but for Godric's Sake, stop _trying so hard _to hate me."

Noticing her sudden shift in mood, Draco folded his newspaper and stood, his expression livid.

"Oh, I don't _have _to try," He hissed, shoving himself away from his chair and sauntering towards the front door. "It comes naturally." He grabbed his coat from the hook next to the door, shrugged it on, and prepared to leave.

"And just where do you think _you're_ going?" She shrieked, turning around to glare at him.

"Out, little Mudblood," He snapped, throwing the door open and stepping out into the hall. "Out." And with that, he slammed the door shut behind him, and Hermione was left alone once more.

* * *

><p>Ron looked around the flat with an inquisitive expression embedded onto his features, almost as if he were afraid that Draco's presence had somehow changed the structure of the apartment. Hermione eyed him from behind her mug of hot cocoa—she was clad in a sweater and pair of jeans, topped off with her house slippers. She curled her legs underneath her from the chair she was positioned at, and sipped her hot cocoa, humming as the warmth from the beverage enveloped her.<p>

"Ron," Hermione began, her brows furrowing slightly. "You haven't said a word since you got here. Is there something you wanted?"

Ron blinked and turned his gaze on her, almost as if he'd forgotten Hermione was in the room. He shook his head slowly, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck as he smiled sheepishly at her.

"'Mione," He began slowly. "You know you don't have to do this, right? You don't have to stay married to him. You can just get divorced and…move on with your life."

Hermione clutched her cup of hot chocolate tighter, blowing lightly on the steam that was wafting up from the surface of the drink. She regarded Ron with a wary stare, unsure how to approach his suggestion. It was true, she didn't have to stay in the marriage—she could easily get out and leave Draco to deal with his sentence.

But it wasn't that simple.

"I was happy with him once, Ron," Hermione said softly, running her index finger along the rim of her cup. "And he deserves a second chance. I've got to give it to him."

"You weren't happy with him!" Ron protested, his brows furrowing together as he eyed Hermione haughtily. "You were deluded by his…his charm err something, I dunno 'Mione. You didn't love him, you only thought you did."

Hermione stared at her old friend, her lips thinning out and her eyes hardening over. If she'd looked in the mirror, the Witch might've laughed at the similarity her expression wore to her husband's.

"I hardly think you're in any position to tell me how I feel or whether or not I was happy, _Ronald_," She said coolly, her knuckles growing white from the force she was applying to her mug. "I know what I felt."

"And what _did_ you feel with him exactly, Hermione?"

"Everything I didn't feel with you."

Ron froze, recoiling as if she'd physically slapped him. Hermione sunk into her chair, regretting what she'd said to him. She cleared her throat, taking another sip of her drink. She didn't mean to be so harsh, but Ron had a hard time letting things to. He was so bound and determined to discredit everything Hermione and Draco had shared, and that made her feel belittled and violated in the most offensive of manners.

"He's going to break your heart again, 'Mione," Ron said in a low voice, shoving himself away from the table. The legs of the chair he sat in scooted violently across the floor, and Ron stood, shrugging on the sweater he'd draped over the back of his chair. "And this time, I'm not going to be there to pick up the pieces."

Hermione, her mouth hung ajar in shock and aggravation, set her mug down and rose, glowering at him.

"I'm the one who broke _his_ heart!" She cried, her fingers twitching with anger. "And you most certainly did not pick up the pieces, Ronald Weasley. Don't give yourself the satisfaction of believing so. This past year, when all I've needed was a friend, _you_ tried to poke and prod your way back into my life! As if I'd be more than willing to make you my re-bound man!"

Ron shook his head, disgust settling on his features. He moved to head towards the entrance hall when the front door blew open, and Draco came storming inside. He slamming the door shut behind him and stopped when he caught sight of Ron. The two glared at one another with as much contempt and repulsion as either one could muster up, and remained silent for a handful of minutes, unable to do anything but glare in the other's general direction.

"Malfoy," Ron growled, stepping forward. "Still as big of a git as ever, I see."

"Weasley," Draco spat, eyeing him with condescension. "Still trying to bed my wife, I see."

Hermione winced at the vulgar comment and Ron began to tremble with anger, lunging himself at Draco. He shoved Draco against the door, and Draco brought his leg back and kicked Ron in the shin, skirting out from under him and pinning him to the wall.

"You don't deserve her!" Ron barked, trying to break himself free of Draco's hold.

"Yes, well, what does that say about you, then?" Draco hissed, raising one blonde brow.

Hermione couldn't stand by and watch anymore of this scene. She stepped forward, prying Draco's hands free from Ron and forcefully shoving them away, glaring at the pair of them.

"You're both acting like _children_!" She yelled, her chest heaving with anger. Draco only barely registered the she was there, setting his jaw and standing erect so that he could glare at Ron again.

"And Weasley's overstayed his welcome," Draco snapped, his lips curling back into a snarl. "Go burrow in the trash with the rest of your incestuous litter, Weasel, and hold your tongue before you make a fool of yourself again."

At the mention of his family, Ron charged forward again, but Hermione stepped between them, gently pushing on Ron's chest.

"Ron," She said in a low voice, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Please. Just go." Ron's gaze flickered back and forth between the pair of them before he turned to leave, halting just outside in the hall.

"Remember what I told you, Hermione," He said sternly before turning to leave. Hermione locked the door and turned around, her glare now fixated on Draco.

"Do you have to start a fight with _everyone_?" She barked, shoving off from the door and moving to stand in front of him.

"Yes," was all that he managed to mutter in response.

"And where did you go earlier?" She demanded, her brown eyes narrowing into accusatory slits. She placed her hands on her hips and studied his face closely, trying to detect any cracks in his otherwise cold demeanor. She found none.

"I told you," He said, clipping the words out fiercely. "Out."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled in frustration, tapping her foot impatiently. Letting her hands fall to her sides, she looked up at him in mild defeat.

"Fine," She said, exhaustion lacing her voice. "But if this is going to work, we have to at least pretend we've reconciled."

"And why do we have to do that?" Draco asked warily.

"Because we have a very…_special_ dinner to attend tonight."

"Dinner? Dinner with who, Hermione?"

Hermione paused, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Draco repeated his question, this time a bit harsher as he urged her to continue.

"The Minister of Magic."


	7. Meeting Kingsley

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hey guys! So yeah, I know, updating two chapters in one day—I must be crazy! But I've just had the time to write lately, and I wanted to get as much done before I return to school. And I've decided that the song I'm going to recommend for this chapter will be "The Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park. Well, enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Meeting Kingsley<strong>

Draco stood before the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, smoothing out his black suit and grumbling to himself. He hated knowing that he had to sit down and have dinner with _her _before the Minister—that he had to act as though everything were perfectly wonderful between the estranged ex-Death Eater and his Mudblood wife. He fixed his tie, loosening it slightly before standing tall and crossing the room. Draco entered the sitting room and cut across to the entrance hall, where Hermione was collecting her purse and putting her coat on. She wore a peach-colored frock with a lacy collar, and her hair was swept up into a tidy bun. It reminded him of the way she looked on a night that felt as though it had occurred an eternity ago—a night when their flaws began to overwhelm everything else. He noticed how nervous she was; her hands fumbled to button up her coat, and Draco stepped forward, slapping her hands away and finished buttoning up her jacket for her. He realized, then, just how close in proximity the pair were.

And that's when the memories began to slip through his cracks.

_"Draco," Hermione murmured, her back to him as she leant over the kitchen counter. "They came and took me today. They brought me to them and told me."_

_ "And what, exactly, did they tell you?" He asked quietly, his voice taut with suppressed emotion. He stepped forward, his hands trailing along her bare arms._

_ "They told me that you did it. That you did this to us. That it's your fault. They asked me if I wanted to press charges."_

_ Draco staggered backwards as though he'd been slapped. His heart hammered violently against his chest, and his hands grew clammy. He stared at his Witch incredulously, trying to deny what he was sure would be her inevitable response. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but was cut off by her violent, shuddering sobs._

_ "I said yes."_

"I said you didn't have to do that, Draco," Hermione said testily, and Draco was hurtled back into reality by her words. He stepped back, dropping his hands from her coat as though the material stung him. He glanced her up and down once, rolled his shoulders, and moved to open the door, his lips pressed together tightly.

"Shall we go, then?" He asked acidly, holding the door open for her. Hermione, giving him one final warning look, stepped out into the hall, and Draco followed.

He just hoped he'd have the strength to get through this night without ripping his hair out.

* * *

><p>Kingsley Shacklebolt was a respectable Minister—the greatest that the Wizarding World had seen in ages. After the Second War left the magical world in shambles, Shacklebolt had stepped forward and picked up the pieces of their fragile and broken universe. A handful of years later, and the Wizarding World was back on its feet and running smoothly, thanks to the dark-skinned man who had taken over the position.<p>

And so it was that Draco and Hermione made their way through the dimly-lit restaurant, walking closely together—too close for comfort, in Draco's bitter opinion. Once they approached the very private and luxurious table that the Minister of Magic had reserved for them, Draco held Hermione's chair out for her, hissing under his breath and reminding himself that he only had to be cordial for a few hours. He took a seat next to his wife and folded his hands together, staring at Shacklebolt expectantly.

"Good evening, Minister," Hermione said, and Draco could tell the forced sense of cheeriness seeping through her words. He tightened his grip on his hands, his knuckles growing a ghastly shade of white from the pressure he applied.

"Good evening, Hermione," Kingsley returned, a small smile tugging on his lips. He turned to face Draco, his face masked by the onslaught of several emotions—curiosity, disbelief, uncertainty. "And you, Draco? It's been quite a while since anyone from the Ministry—or your wife, for that matter—has heard anything from you."

Draco cleared his throat, forcing a small smile at the Minister before parting his lips and speaking.

"Yes, well, there was the little matter of my Obliviation, Minister. I couldn't exactly alert anyone of where I was or what I'd been up to when I myself didn't even know my own identity."

Kingsley nodded solemnly, as though he were only slightly satisfied with the response given. The waiter arrived just then, and all three placed their orders. Draco shifted uneasily in his seat, but kept his gaze cool and challenging; almost as if he dared someone to question the feigned happy front he was putting forth.

"So," Kingsley began again, lacing his hands together and eyeing the couple suspiciously. "Just what exactly happened last year, Draco?"

Draco could feel Hermione tense next to him, but he kept calm, despite the fact that his insides were churning.

"My statement stands the same," He said firmly, picking up the glass of champagne placed before him and taking a sip. "Hermione and I were practicing defense charms and memory spells so that she would be able to more effectively reverse them on the patients coming through the fourth floor of St. Mungos, and something went wrong and her spell rebounded and hit me. I grew terrified and ran, aimlessly wandering Europe for months. Once I'd finally regained my memories, I came in search of her. That's where your boys come in." Draco flicked the liquid in his glass dangerously with his wrist, his blonde brows knitting together as he watched the golden beverage slosh around in its glass.

_Liar, just tell them the damn truth. It'll be Hermione's fault…_Draco's subconscious hissed. But he couldn't bear to speak the words that had been simmering inside of him for months—he wasn't sure why, but he just couldn't. File it under a temporary bout of weakness or something of the sort, but Draco just wasn't ready to talk about what really happened on that fateful evening so many months ago. Kingsley merely nodded, sitting back in his chair and grunting to himself. Draco became aware of Hermione relaxing next to him, and stifled the urge to snort. As if she had anything to worry about—it was _his_ head that was on the line here.

"What about you, Hermione?" Kingsley asked suddenly, and Hermione looked up suddenly, her brown eyes widening slightly.

"What about me, Minister?" She asked quietly, confusion clouding her eyes.

"How are you adjusting to the return of your husband?" He gave them both a critical stare, as if to communicate that he thought he'd be able to decipher whether or not the pair were lying. The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched slightly, and she smiled sweetly at the older man.

"Oh, it's going a lot better than I expected," She replied airily, and Draco felt her take his hand in hers. His first instinct was to pull away, but when he realized that Kingsley was studying them closely, he refrained from doing so. He opened his palm and laced his fingers with hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand in soothing circles.

It was all for show, that's all it was. Draco didn't care about how dainty her hand was nor how perfectly it molded to his. He hardly even thought about how soft her skin was and how the tips of her fingers sent shivers erupting down his spine. It was strictly business—a façade; that was all. He didn't_ really_ enjoy holding her hand.

At least, that was what he told himself repeatedly over the course of the next few minutes. When Hermione finally released his hand, Draco was stung with self-hatred to comprehend that his hand felt cold and empty without the imprint of hers.

By the time their food finally arrived, all three occupants of the table were tense. Draco picked up the knife and fork that were placed before him and tenderly cut into a bit of his steak. He took a bite, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. For the first few moments, nothing but the sound of metal scraping against glass plates as the trio cut their food and began to eat filled the room. Finally, when Draco felt he could take the silence no longer, Hermione began to speak.

"Minister," She began cautiously, and Draco noticed her hands began to tremble slightly as she cut into her meat. "The Ministry _will_ repeal Draco's sentence once the six months are out, correct?"

Draco froze instantly, swallowing his food noisily and waiting for Shacklebolt's response. Could there be a chance that he would decide that Draco's punishment was to remain with him for the remainder of his life? Had he really not repented of his sins?

Hadn't he been given any redemption?

Kingsley studied the Malfoy Heir momentarily, his lips pursed. Finally, when it appeared as though he had thoroughly thought over the question and planned out his response, he let out a sigh and set down the fork he was holding.

"Yes, Malfoy will be repealed and pardoned for the charges against him if he withholds the binding contract," Kingsley said finally, studying the pair of estranged lovers closely. "Why? You weren't hoping to find another way out, were you?"

Hermione shook her head fervently, her loose curls bouncing around her face.

"No, sir, not at all," She managed to say. "I was merely questioning it, is all. I just don't think it would be fair if Draco was under the impression that he was to be released, only to be told his charges were still intact." She lifted her fork, cutting off a piece of her steak and lifting it to her lips. She chewed daintily, looking around the room and attempting to focus her gaze on something other than the mildly confused Minister of Magic before her.

"But, Mrs. Malfoy," He began, and the way in which he addressed her made Draco flinch slightly. "You're the one who made the most recent charges in the first place."

The room grew silent suddenly, and Draco swore he could cut the tension with a knife. Hermione seemed collected, though, and exhaled a jagged sigh. Draco noticed her legs were quavering slightly from her position in the chair, and before he could stop himself, he reached a hand down and placed it on her knee, his fingers trailing across her skin. He gave her a comforting nod and gestured for her to continue. Her confidence swelling again, she inhaled sharply and looked Kingsley directly in the eyes.

"Yes, well," She began, her voice quiet. "We all know my state of sanity and well-being at that time. The charges were ill-made and not founded on truth."

She'd said it. She had finally admitted it—_not founded on truth. _Draco felt his throat swell up, and he quickly snatched his hand from her leg, the emotions overwhelming him. He'd waited so long—damn near a year—for her to say those words. That her offenses weren't based on anything close to the truth. It was as though the lies that had been building and mounting between them were finally beginning to crumble down. At last, Hermione had spoken a fraction of the truth. Which was more than could be said for how Draco had handled things since his departure a year ago, but then again, Hermione had always been the more honest of the two of them.

Kingsley paused, fiddling with the collar of his robes as he debated over whether or not to believe the words that so willingly came forth from Hermione. Draco assured himself that the man would have no reason not to believe her—she was Hermione Granger, War Heroine and Gryffindor's own Golden Girl. If he were to believe either one of them in this situation, it'd be her. Draco's hopes began to dwindle, however, when Kingsley continued to refrain from making any commentary. Just when he felt as though all hope was lost, the Minister of Magic cleared his throat and settled his hard gaze on Draco first, and then Hermione.

"Very well then," He said sternly, removing his hands from his collar to place them flat on the table. "I'll make sure the trial members in charge of your case are made aware of this at once then, Mr. Malfoy. This is, of course, a statement I can release to the Ministry members, correct, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Hermione, without skipping a beat, nodded her head excitedly. "Yes, yes it is," She breathed, exhaling in relief.

Draco, as if he had been waiting for the tension to wash over him and cease to exist, relaxed in his chair and once more picked up his eating utensils. The three resumed their dinner, this time much more relaxed. Hermione conversed with Kingsley about how things were going at St. Mungos, and she inquired as to whether or not the Ministry had fixed the squeak on the hinges of the lift. He replied with no, they had not, but he would see to it that it was done immediately.

Draco, for the most part, was left out of the conversation. He didn't mind so much, though—he'd never been one for small talk, and his head was already throbbing from playing the part of the "happy husband". It was a relief to know that Hermione had lifted a small pinch of the burden that was weighing him down, but that didn't mean he was ready to forgive her. Not yet. There was still a lot that had to be done, and Draco's pride and dignity had already been wounded enough.

* * *

><p>Draco was lounging on the couch, a worn copy of a play before him; its red leather bounding faded with age. Crookshanks rested at his feet, and Draco looked up when he felt the presence of another person in the room. Hermione was hovering by the doorway to the bedroom, wearing a white t-shirt and striped pajama bottoms. Draco eyed her curiously for a moment; something about her in that moment reminded him of a past memory, and the curiosity to pinpoint what it was exactly overwhelmed him. Placing his thumb on the page he was currently reading, Draco closed the book and stood, walking towards her. Crookshanks leapt off the couch and followed, rubbing against Hermione's legs and purring.<p>

"What are you wearing?" He whispered, his blonde brows furrowing together; the corners of his mouth pulling into a slight frown.

Hermione looked down at her ensemble, her eyes clouding with confusion. She looked back up at him and bit her lip, shrugging.

"Clothing?" She suggested lamely.

Draco shook his head stiffly, his fingers reaching out to grasp the cotton of her white shirt. "_This_, Hermione," He urged. "This."

She paled as he pointed out her shirt, and suddenly began fumbling over her speech.

"Oh, well I—" She began, stuttering. "I just—that is, after you left, and I…" She sighed in exasperation, closing her eyes for a moment before continuing. She opened her eyes and stared him in the face, determined.

"Yes, Draco. It's your shirt. So what?"

"I just…I sort of figured you would've gotten rid of everything," He stated plainly, dropping his hands and staring at her curiously. There were the lingering hints of a past emotion trying to force its way outside of him, and if Draco had been any less awake, he would've eagerly caved into them. As it was, he was very on guard, and so quite easily shoved the emotions further down inside of him to simmer and burn out. Hermione rolled her eyes and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, she shook her head, her soft curls bouncing up and down excitedly.

"I just came in to say that tonight was fine and all, but we're going to have to be more convincing next time. The Minister was onto us, I could feel it."

"Really?" Draco asked sarcastically, scoffing and rolling his grey eyes heavily. "I had no idea. D'you think, perhaps, it might've had something to do with the fact that you were trembling like a damn Chihuahua?"

Hermione let out a small gasp and narrowed her eyes, standing taller and gritting her teeth as she glared at the man mere inches away from her.

"This isn't all my fault!" She snapped, her temper flaring. "You're always so keen to blame me, why is that? You know, I did make a mistake a while ago, Draco, but it's not as though I don't feel bad for it! And I—I—_why are you snickering at me_?"

Draco clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, stepping back and allowing his face to broaden into an amused smirk.

"Frailty, thy name is Hermione!" He cried, turning to plop down on the couch. He lifted his legs and rested them on the coffee table, opening his book and continuing to read. She followed him, snatching the book from his hands and shutting it with a dull thud.

"You can't just treat me however the hell you want!" She hissed, tossing the book to the floor. "And can you refrain from quoting that damn play for five minutes, please?" She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, and Draco watched as she murmured words of peace to herself. He remained on the couch, shrugging half-heartedly and stretching out comfortably.

"I recall a time, Hermione, when you used to love it when I'd quote Shakespeare," He responded bitterly. She turned to face him, her rage practically glowing in her features.

"Yes, one time," She clipped out angrily, crossing her arms across her chest. "As it is, Draco, things are different now."

He nodded once, the corners of his lips pulling upwards into a cruel smile.

"Glad to see you finally get it, then."


	8. Storms

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hey guys! So, yeah I know, I've been writing a lot recently. Which is good for those of you who like updates, but bad for me when it means that when school starts getting hectic again, I won't be updating daily like I have been. I'll still be uploading regularly, though! Okay, so my song rec for this chapter is "Iris"by the Goo Goo Dolls. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Storms<strong>

After their final confrontation that took place in the sitting room, Hermione had craftily avoided Draco for the following two weeks. She spent her week nights sitting in her office, going over medical files, and her weekends hanging out with Ginny, Harry, and sometimes even Ron. Hermione had grown so accustomed to ignoring Draco's existence, that she was scared witless when she heard shrieking come from the sitting room one night at the end of what would have marked as his first month since he'd returned home.

It was a cold and stormy night. The lightning outside made the world shine an entirely different color, and the thunder cracked and shook the Earth. Hermione slipped out of bed, shivering once the initial cold of the flat hit her, and shuffled towards the sitting room. She threw the door to the master bedroom open, blinking back sleep as her ears registered the painful cries coming from the heart of the house. Her golden eyes widened as a flash of lightning illuminated the otherwise dark house, and she found Draco writhing painfully in his sleep, a thin sheet of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Hermione hovered in the doorframe, unsure as to whether or not she should leave him be or disrupt him from his clearly troubled slumber. As he cried out again, Hermione ran across the room, closing the distance between them. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek, and his shuddering stopped almost instantly. His grey eyes flew open, and Hermione noticed the hazy glaze that inhabited them. He looked at her with a queer expression in his eyes, and Hermione's heart thudded painfully in the silence, with nothing but the tumultuous storm outside to serve as noise. She was waiting for him to slap her hand away or tell her to shove off, but he did neither.

"I've been dreaming about you for a year," He whispered, his voice thick. Hermione's breath caught in her chest, and she looked at him with a baffled expression. He was clearly still half-asleep, or under the delusion that he was dreaming. There was no sodding way that the Draco Malfoy who'd arrived nearly a month ago would be treating her in as gentle and honest a manner as this unless he thought she was just a vision.

Hermione was tempted to lull him out of his delusional state, but the feeling of his warm fingers against her cheek was just too damn inviting.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco?" She breathed, her heart aching with each word.

"I didn't want to leave. Why'd you make me leave?"

"It's…it's complicated, Draco."

"But I loved you. I loved you so much."

Hermione choked back a sob, her lips quivering and her eyes brimming with tears. He lifted his hands and brushed away her tears lazily through half-lidded eyes.

"…Hermione?" He asked again, his voice drowsy and warm.

"Yes?"

"Stay with me. Just for tonight. You always leave in my dreams. Just let me hold you—just this once."

Hermione nodded stiffly, the tears now falling down her cheeks freely, and moved to lay next to Draco on the couch. He snaked his arm around her waist and drew her close, burrowing his head in her neck and closing his eyes. He hummed to himself, and Hermione felt her body mold against his. Just like old times.

Her body shuddered with silent sobs, and she felt him hold her tighter, a yawn slipping from his lips.

"Don't cry, Hermione," He muttered, his breath stirring on her neck. "It'll all be over when I wake up, and you'll be gone again."

Her lungs ached with the desire to cry, but she didn't want to upset him further. Hermione twisted her body so that she was facing him, their noses barely brushing. She sighed in something close to content, and kept her eyes open, allowing herself to soak in the peaceful feeling of being so close to him. The sloping of his nose, the slight dark circles under his eyes and the striking stormy color of his eyes. Her memory hadn't done him justice—he was beautiful, there was no denying it. Possibly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

She lifted one finger to trace the outline of his lips, soft under her skin. Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and Hermione allowed her face to contort itself into one of inexplicable grief, and her body wracked with silent sobs as the man she was in love with but wasn't allowed to have held her close.

Things would've been different, she assured herself, if she hadn't ruined everything they built together. Hermione prided herself on her ability to cope, and made everyone think she was getting along fine without Draco. The past year, she'd placed on her bravest of faces and sauntered around with her head held high.

But none of it mattered. She still came home every night and cried herself to sleep. She still had nightmares about the things she'd done; about the things he'd said. She still felt this empty and sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach when she'd realized what she had lost. She yearned for him to hold her like this—like how he used to almost every night. She remembered the tender feeling of his lips feathering kisses across her skin, and longed for his mouth on hers. She almost wished that she could even relive their worst fights together, just so she could experience the bliss of making up with him. Now, there was no making up. Just fight after fight. Sobbing for hours on end in her room without him coming to comfort her.

No one would ever understand how much more it hurt to be without him than it ever could to be with him.

She felt Draco wince slightly next to her, and Hermione withdrew her hand from his face, eyeing him warily. His eyes drowsily opened again, but she noticed the hazy hue in them had disappeared. His grey eyes widened slightly as he stared at her, and his muscles tensed. Thunder cracked outside, and he noticed the tears that coated her cheeks. They stared at one another in a tense silence for several moments, neither one of them speaking. Finally, when Hermione felt as though the silence would drag on forever, Draco opened his mouth to speak.

"What are you doing?" He rasped out, evidently too confused to shove her away from him. She swallowed the rising lump in her throat, tears threatening to sting her eyes.

"You asked me to stay," She whispered, her voice quavering.

She waited for the inevitable—for him to shove her aside and hiss for her to leave him the hell alone. For him to accuse her of things she didn't do and words she did not speak. Instead, he shifted himself around, removing his hand from her waist and moving slowly to straddle her. Hermione, her eyes wide and confused, studied him in anticipation.

"I hate storms," He choked out, vulnerability suddenly washing over his face. Hermione nodded meekly, licking her dry lips and craning her neck to look at him.

"I know," She breathed, her bones aching with the exhilaration of him being this close without being angry with her.

Draco let a low and throaty hum escape his lips, and leaned down, severing the space that kept his lips from hers.

Hermione gasped at first, but then eagerly pressed her lips against his. Her teeth ran along the inside of his bottom lip, and she was rewarded with a small moan from the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her husband.

"Draco," She whispered as he moved his mouth down to her neck. His lips trailed along her tender skin, and she shuddered in ecstasy. Her hands grabbed fistfuls of his white cotton shirt, and she sunk her teeth into her lower lip.

"Hermione," Draco murmured against her neck, his body pressing lightly on hers. "I've missed you so much."

She had no idea whether or not he was admitting these emotions in his sleepy state, but Hermione didn't care. He was there with her—telling her he missed her, and that was all she gave a damn about in the heat of the moment. She tilted her head to allow him more access to his neck, and he responded greedily. When he finally raised his face to meet hers again, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, and allowed Draco to brush his lips against either one of her eyes lids. Her lashes stuck together from the tears that had been pouring from her earlier, and they clung to her skin as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's been so long since we've made love," He whispered, violent emotion suddenly gripping his voice. Hermione opened her eyes suddenly, looking up at him.

"We—in the shower not that long ago, though, Draco…"

He shook his head, the tips of his white-blonde hair tickling her forehead.

"We shagged, Hermione," He murmured. "But tonight, I just want to make love to you."

Hermione nodded her head slowly, licking her lips as her body began to tremble with anticipation. He hadn't treated her tenderly like this in Godric knows how long, and it reminded her of days when everything had been perfect between the pair of them. As it was now, their marriage was in shambles and she knew he'd leave once the six months were up. He had no reason to stay. But in that instance, Hermione didn't care. She shoved her dignity and pride to the side, because being with him was worth more than either one of those traits for the time being.

His hands trailed along her sides, his fingers feeling the texture of her cotton pajama shirt and lingering close to her hips. Hermione slid a hand up his shirt, feeling his warm stomach and the outline of the muscles in his abdomen, tracing the grooves and curves as though it were something she'd been used to doing her entire life. She knew his body better than anyone else did, and he hers.

His hands started to tug on her loose cotton shirt, and Hermione raised her hands above her head, allowing for him to remove the piece of clothing. Her bare torso became exposed to him, and a sliver of lightning followed by a loud snap of thunder briefly illuminated her bare body to him. Draco's breath evacuated his body in small shudders, and he leaned down, pressing his lips against the dip between her breasts. Hermione gave a small gasp, and arched her back willingly as Draco's hands traced her breasts in soothing circles. He grazed his lips over the curves and contours of her breasts, peppering kisses along her most tender spots.

_Don't let this be the last time, _Hermione pleaded to herself. _Don't let him forget about me._

But even if he did, she knew that she deserved it.

Hermione's trembling hands lifted to his shirt, and she slowly shrugged it off of him. The action caused his hair to grow stick up in odd places in the storm-lit room, and she ran her hands through it, savoring the silky feeling of his hair between her fingers.

"Hermione," He murmured suddenly, his lips still grazing along her jaw. "You know why I didn't come back, don't you?"

"Not now, Draco. Just let me pretend that this is real. Just for tonight."

He nodded once, and trailed his hands down to her pajama bottoms. He looped the hem of them and her knickers under his fingers and gently pulled down. Hermione lifted her hips to aid him in removing the article of clothing, and the articles of clothing fell off the couch helplessly. Hermione hummed as his hands massaged the undersides of her breasts, sighing in blissful content. She reached her hands down to his pajama bottoms, slowly undoing the knot and shimmying them and the boxers he wore underneath down the length of his legs, his erection hanging between them.

Draco leaned down, closing the distance between their bodies. He pressed himself against her, and her body molded to his almost instantly. She arched her back in anticipation, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt the stiff member between his legs press against the entrance of her cunt, threatening to enter her. It was a delicious and slow sort of desire that enveloped her; she wanted him, wanted him to get lost inside of her, but it wasn't fiery and lust-filled. It was slow, sensual, and intimate. It was something she thought she'd never have with him again.

She craned her neck forward and pressed her lips softly against his, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth as he aligned himself. She felt her body tremble against him, and threw her head back as he entered her slowly. She could feel the muscles of her clit contracting and shaping around his cock, and a slow fire began to build in her abdomen.

"Draco!" She gasped, lifting her hips and pressing herself against him as he slowly thrust himself inside of her. She clamped her mouth shut, expecting to be reprimanded for uttering his name again as she was that night not so long ago in the shower. But like everything else that had occurred thus far into the evening, Draco shocked her by remaining silent. He appeared to be concentrated on something; his brows were knit together and an almost painful look encompassed his features. Hermione reached a hand up to brush against his cheeks, and her fingers came back glistening with tears.

He was crying. Draco Malfoy was crying.

Rocking her hips against him, she felt Draco pull out of her and slip inside again, his back breaking out into tiny spasms as he did so. She wrapped her hands in his hair, and heard him whisper what sounded like her first name over and over again. She would not address the fact that she'd seen him crying—he would only think of it as a weakness and draw into himself. Instead, she allowed for his hands to snake around and grab hold of her back, and he cradled her to him as he bucked inside of her again, his thrusts slow, sensual, and every bit as ecstasy-inducing as the bouts of hot and intense sex the pair had experienced before. She kissed his forehead, rotating her hips and recognizing how amazing this felt, with him inside of her.

Just when she felt as though the slow and beautiful twinge of desire behind her navel was going to burst, Draco shifted himself slowly and methodically inside of her, and Hermione sputtered a ecstasy-driven sigh, arching her back as her orgasm drove her home and she came with him still positioned inside her. He held her tighter, and Hermione was uncertain whether or not the shudders and tremors of his body as he cradled her were sobs or his own climax until she felt the hot bursts of pleasure as he came inside of her. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down on top of her, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Draco, still winding down from his orgasm, laid his head on her chest, closed his eyes, and began to cry. She refrained from saying anything—he wouldn't have wanted that. She simply held him and he held her; the storm outside raging on as she made sure that the one Wizard who had single-handedly changed her entire view on the world felt protected.

Neither one of them spoke—there was no reason to. Something had passed between them that night that didn't need communication. And as Hermione sat there and ran her hand through his hair, massaging his scalp and thinking about the time they'd shared together, she realized they'd always been like that.

The last thing she remembered before her eyelids grew heavy and began to droop shut was Draco murmuring in her ear, "Thank you."


	9. Narcissa Rises

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hey guys! So, I was sitting in AP English today when the idea for this chapter hit me. It was great, really, just watching _Hamlet _and then being slapped in the face with a good Dramione idea. Hahah, but anyways, I hope you guys enjoy where this is headed! My song rec for this chapter is "Dumbledore's Farewell"—which, if you're reading this fic, I assume most of you have already heard. Let me know what you guys think!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Narcissa Rises<strong>

"I think we should visit your mother, Draco."

Those eight words—he'd been waiting for her to speak them. Dreaded it, actually. However, despite his expectations and apprehension over the topic of discussion, it did nothing to ease his pain. It didn't provide him with comfort to dwell on that particular aspect of his life, and he didn't fancy traveling down that road of regret and agony any longer.

"No," He replied firmly, seated across from Hermione at the kitchen table. He took a sip of his juice and went back to leafing through the pages of that same worn red leather book he'd been so invested in the past few weeks. It was the same thing, really, and although he'd read the play near a hundred times, sometimes he just let his eyes rest on the words. They provided him with comfort, and he used it as a crutch to unload all of his turmoil on.

"She's been asking for you, Draco," Hermione urged, and he heard the scraping of metal against plastic as Hermione took a spoonful of cereal. Draco, growing exasperated, closed his book and tossed it on the table, turning his eyes towards her. He pursed his lips slightly, clearly deep in thought, and considered what she was trying to convince him to do. Neither one of them had spoken of what had occurred the night before, but Draco had felt himself loosen up slightly around the Witch. He knew she'd seen him crying, and was grateful that she'd had the decency not to mention it. It was odd, really, how well she knew him. How she understood that pointing out such a weakness would only humiliate him.

It had been nice, much to his dismay, to be wrapped up like that with her again. The scene in the shower had been rushed and full of a desire to reclaim what he'd long missed. It had been full of revenge and spite and fiery lust. But last night on the couch had been _different, _somehow. It was quiet and soft—sweet, even. It was what both of them wanted, but not necessarily what they needed.

But something she'd said in protest to his refusal to visit his mother caught his attention, and he focused a curious gaze in her direction.

"You still visit my mother?" He asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper. He noticed her shift uncomfortably in her seat, and she dropped her spoon, the metal clattering against the rim of her bowl.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Draco waited patiently for her response, his head spinning. He'd been sure that once he'd left, Hermione would have severed all ties with him. She would have stopped visiting his family; thrown everything away. The fact that she not only still wore his old t-shirt to bed but also still paid visits to his deteriorating mother had proved him wrong. And if he had been incorrect about this, what _else_ had he been wrong about?

"I—yes, I do," Hermione replied, slightly defensive. He noticed her posture stiffen, as though she were preparing for a fight. Rather than fulfill her expectations and bark at her to sod off and stay out of his business, he merely shook his head, strands of his pale hair falling in front of his face. Draco rubbed his face, groaning inwardly and slumping back in his chair.

"How is she?" Draco asked suddenly, trying to mask the concern in his voice. He knew Hermione would catch onto it, though—she always did.

"She's been worse since you left," Hermione admitted, picking up the handle of her spoon and tracing it around the rim of her bowl. She refused to meet his gaze, and he wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and grab her face, forcing her to look at him. Instead, he kept his itching hands at his sides, and nibbled on the inside of his cheek vigorously.

"How much worse?" He pressed, leaning forward, as though her reply could somehow reach his ears faster that way. "Does she still remember what happened? Is she too far gone yet? Has she realized where I placed her? Does she hate me?"

The words erupted from his mouth, and he could no longer refrain from showing his anxiety; his curiosity; his concern for his mother. Hermione lifted her eyes to meet his, and blinked in surprise at the intense way in which he glared at her. It wasn't out of anger or resentment—it was genuine worry. It was a boy concerned about the safety and well-being of the only real family member he had left.

"Draco," Hermione began softly, exhaling in a rush. "I don't think your mother could ever have it in her to hate you."

Draco's shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. She had a way of easing his mind by chipping away bits of his stress one subject at a time. But the matter of her memory among other things still had yet to be addressed.

"Yes," He breathed, tapping his fingers against the table top. "But what about the other things? My other inquiries?"

Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment as she appeared to arrange her thoughts. When she opened her eyes again, Draco's grey irises had filled with a desperation; a sort of plea for her to convey the truth to him. He didn't want to be lied to—not anymore. It was the truth or nothing else for him at this point. His sanity couldn't take much more.

"She doesn't remember what happened, no. The only thing that's really gotten worse about her is her mood. She cries for you a lot and recites things from the past. Things I—things I don't quite understand. And no, she doesn't realize where you've placed her. I think she'd be too heart-broken to go on if she ever figured it out."

Draco nodded solemnly, understanding too well what Hermione must have gone through in his absence. He fiddled with his fingers, his eyes growing glassy as he recalled that even when he had been present, dealing with his mother had grown to be a burden. The table before him seemed to dissolve as he allowed his mind to grow drunk with the feeling of another memory that was just out of reach.

_"Draco," Narcissa stated in an airy voice. "You need to clean up. You're an absolute mess, and your father isn't going to be pleased with you when he arrives home from his afternoon session with the Minister."_

_ Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyeing his mother anxiously. Finally, throwing Hermione—who stood in the corner, staring at the coat in her hands—an apprehensive look, Draco walked briskly to the other side of the room, pulling out a rickety wooden chair roughly and plopping down on it. He took his mother's hands in his, and she looked up at him. She blinked a few times, a soft smile playing on the corners of her mouth._

_ "Mother," Draco began in a whisper, his blonde brows knitting together. "Father's in Azkaban."_

_ Narcissa clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and snatched her hand away, looking displeased with her son._

_ "Draco Lucius, don't you dare say such things about your father like that!" She said in a scolding tone, her eyes darting back and forth as though she were registering something in her mind._

_ "But tell me dear," She began again, lifting her shaking hands to play with the collar of her son's button-down shirt. "How's the Inquisitorial Squad? Oh, such a high honor indeed, for such a beautiful young boy. Such honor upon your family, Draco. Such honor…"_

_ Draco gave up his attempts, realizing that at this point, they were futile. Instead, he nodded and agreed with his mother, lifting a hand to brush back a strand of her hair, smiling at her and laughing with all of the things Narcissa murmured that she found to be humorous. It was better that she didn't know._

Draco woke himself from his memory, far too disgusted and saddened by what he'd remembered to delve deeper into his emotions. Picking up his cup of juice and downing the rest of it, he looked at Hermione, pursing his tongue and debating internally with himself. Finally, he inhaled shakily and slammed the cup down on the counter, reminding himself of his promise so many months ago to his mother.

"Alright," He agreed. "Let's go see mother."

* * *

><p>London was still cold and drizzled with rain from the storm only hours before, and as Draco and Hermione made their way through the wet streets, he found himself reminiscing on last night yet again. He couldn't get over how amazing it felt to be with her, and found himself disturbed by the realization that he'd do it all over again. His hand brushed against the small of her back as the pair passed through the revolving doors of a small and plain looking building. Much smaller than any hospital Draco had been to, he still wrinkled his nose at the scent of cleaning supplies that always wafted up his nose as he would enter the establishment.<p>

The building always reeked of Muggles, and though Hermione said this was simply something he'd fabricated due to years of prejudice that was pounded into him, Draco could've _sworn _that Muggles smelled…different, somehow. As though a foreign aroma encompassed their kind. He licked his lips and followed Hermione to the front desk, where an elderly woman with blazing red hair that would challenge even that of a Weasley's typed away furiously on an outdated-looking computer. Tearing her eyes from the monitor, she blinked a few times, registering the pair and smiling softly at them.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Mr. Malfoy!" She exclaimed, digging through a drawer and retrieving a file. She opened the manila folder and thumbed through its contents before drawing out a leaf of paper and handing it to him. "I was beginning to think you'd—well, never mind."

Draco cocked a brow curiously at the woman before taking the paper she'd handed him, picking up a pen from the basket that was provided on the counter, and signing himself in. Hermione did the same, and they returned the paper to the woman. The secretary nodded towards the back hall before returning to her desk.

"She's back there—in her room again," The woman responded in a singsong voice, and Draco slowly began making his way through the narrow, cream-colored corridor. He felt his hands grow clammy, and before he could register what was happening, he stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring blankly ahead. Hermione halted next to him, eyeing him curiously. When he gave no indication that he would move, Hermione positioned herself in front of him and lifted to place her hands on his face. She forced him to look at her, and Draco decided he would allow her hands to caress his cheeks—just this once. It soothed him, and he needed absolute peace on a day like this.

"You can do this," She whispered fiercely. "You've done this a dozen times. It's fine—I—I'll be here." Draco nodded stiffly, and Hermione removed her hands from his face. Forcing himself to push forward, Draco dragged his feet down the hall and turned a sharp right at the end of the corridor, just as he had hundreds of times before.

The withered door that held her nameplate on it in gold lettering stood slightly ajar, and Draco pushed it open slowly. He never knew what kind of mood he was going to catch her in; what memory she was going to be stuck in. With Narcissa these days, it was damn near impossible. Sometimes, she was still caught up in the War. Other days, Draco was still in his fifth year at Hogwarts. More often than not, her mind would focus around the time he'd first agreed to take the Dark Mark. It was a guessing game, really, and he'd learned to mold to his Mother's habits.

She was sitting in her favorite emerald chair by the window, a cup of tea in front of her. She watched in a dazed state as the soft drops of rain pattered against her window pane, peering out into the deserted London streets as though she were looking for someone. Draco walked towards her slowly, and Hermione lingered back, as was custom. He seemed to even forget that his wife was in the room—all he could focus on was his mother, and how lost and empty she looked. He pulled out a green chair that was a duplicate of hers and sat across from her, the only thing separating them being a small brown table.

Slowly, Narcissa turned to look at her son, her glassy eyes scanning up and down his form. A soft smile broadened on her aged face, and Draco matched it with one of his own, bracing himself for what was about to happen.

"Hello, Mother," He said in as confident a tone as possible, his voice shaking slightly.

"Draco," She said in a calm and low voice, cocking her head to the side. "I was beginning to worry about you." She paused, taking a sip of her tea and sighing. Her eyes brightened suddenly, and she looked at him with more optimism.

"Did you hear they've caught him, dear?"

"Caught who, mother?"

"Well, the Potter boy, of course!" Narcissa said excitedly, setting her mug down on the table and reaching across its wooden surface to grab her boy's hands. She rubbed her thumb against his knuckles, smiling sadly at him. "And his two little friends of course, yes. Bella says the should be arriving soon and I—" Her eyes grew dark and cold suddenly, and the smile soon faded from her alabaster face. "—Draco, I don't want you to tell them about Potter. I don't want you to get further involved. Do you understand me?"

Draco nodded, his lower lip quivering slightly. So, she was stuck in the weeks that led up to the War. How _wonderful_.

"Yes, mother, I understand."

Sometimes, with the mad, it was better to appease them. To let Narcissa know what kind of world she had entered would be almost impossible, to say the least. And although her mind went through moments of unease and strife, Draco knew all too well that to break her from the deteriorated state of sanity she was under would be to ruin her further.

And it's not as though there was a cure. Draco had tried everything—spells, enchantments, potions. Even verbal therapy. Anything to bring her back into reality. Anything to get his mother back.

But the truth was simple—simple and painful. Narcissa Malfoy hadn't suffered from a memory spell; hadn't been tortured into this life or been cursed. The War had destroyed her, just as her wilting family and world views had. She was a woman driven mad with what she'd lost, and there was no way Draco could reverse that.

"Draco," Narcissa whispered, and Draco broke away from his thoughts to look up at her. She raised her hands and cupped his face, smiling sadly at her. "You're just a boy. And when this War is over, we're going to be a happy family again. You, your father and I. Won't we, Draco?"

Draco nodded his head, his eyes brimming with tears. His mother—his poor mother would never understand that no, they'd never be a family again. Lucius was rotting in Azkaban, Draco was trying to escape from landing there, and Narcissa was no better than a walking vegetable. He lifted a hand and enclosed it around his mother's, allowing a lone tear to spill over his eyes. Narcissa pursed her lips and eyed her son with sad and comforting eyes, stroking his face and rubbing away his tears.

"It's okay, Draco," She said softly. "Mother's here."

He merely nodded, unable to say anything else. He bit back the tears and smiled at his mother, trying to comfort her. He squeezed her hand gently, and parted his lips to speak, when a man came in the room and disrupted them. He was clad in scrubs, and waved to Narcissa gently. He walked over to the small television that was placed in her room, and began fiddling with the knobs.

"It's television hour for the patients," He stated, as though Draco had asked. The youngest Malfoy just nodded slightly, waiting for the sodding man to just turn the damn thing off and leave. He pressed a few buttons and fidgeted with the remote control until finding the channel that he was satisfied with. It was some sporting event, and as the volume on the television was quite loud, the first thing Draco heard was the high-pitched screams of a rioting crowd coming from within the small box. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite place his mind on what exactly.

The screeching noise caused something unsettling to pass over Narcissa's features, and she threw herself from her chair suddenly, the table turning over and the mug clattering to the carpeted ground. Hermione snapped her head up from her position next to the door, her brown eyes going wide as Narcissa ran to hide behind her bed, curling herself up in a ball and shuddering violently, her arms gripping her sides. She began to wail, her eyes searching around frantically.

"Draco! Draco! Where is Draco?" She shrieked, thrashing around violently. Draco bolted from his chair and ran to his mother's side, kneeling down and trying desperately to get her to look at him, but she wouldn't. Her warm eyes had grown dark and terrified, and she convulsed next to him.

"They're coming, Draco! Hide! Don't let them kill you! The Death Eaters storm tonight!" She cried, banging her fists against the wall. Draco swallowed heavily, realizing then that the mob of people screeching and hollering was similar to the battle cries of the Death Eaters as they attacked Hogwarts all those years ago. Terrified and frantic, Draco whipped his head around, eyeing the clueless man who had turned the television on.

"Turn it off! Turn it the hell off!" He yelled over his mother's cries.

The man blinked a few times, confused, and fumbled to find the remote control.

"The Death Eaters storm tonight! The Death Eaters storm tonight!" Narcissa wailed, her hair whipping around as she continued to twist her way free of her son's grip.

"I said—_**turn it the fuck off now**_! Can't you tell it bothers her?" Draco yelled, his voice dark with anger and his body shaking as he tried to wrap his mother in a hug.

The man finally found the off switch and clicked it rapidly, until the screen went blank and the cries died out, hanging in the air. Nothing but the sounds of Narcissa's moans filled the room, and Draco finally managed to wrap her into a hug, where she shivered against him.

"The Death Eaters storm tonight. He will be victorious. He will take us all." She whispered against her son's chest, exhaling in shaky breaths. Draco shot a warning glare at the doctor who had dared disturb her peace, hissing at him. Hermione still stood in the corner, shell-shocked with her mouth slightly ajar.

"Draco," Narcissa murmured once she had begun to calm down. "I want to go to sleep. Come, Draco, let's go to sleep. Mummy will read you a story."

Draco managed to shake his head, scooping his mother—who was worn and fragile against him—in his arms, leaning to lay her down on the bed. He brushed the hair away that covered her face, and moved to wrap her quilt around her.

"No, mother, that's fine," He assured her in a comforting voice as Narcissa cautiously wrapped the large blanket around herself. "I'm not tired, anyways. I have to go and see father now—sleep, mother. Go to sleep."

As though she understood him, Narcissa nodded once and closed her eyes, curling up and shivering against the cold. Draco turned his glare on the doctor, jabbing a finger towards the man's chest and indicating he meet Draco in the hall. The man obediently followed, and Hermione was the last one out of Narcissa's room. She shut the door behind them, and suddenly Draco's chest was heaving with anger.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He spat, careful not to disturb his mother. "If she starts fucking shrieking like that, then turn the damn thing off! I don't pay you high end money for nothing, you son of a bitch!" He jabbed his finger at the man's chest, his limbs shaking with nerves. Draco was livid—he should've known better than to leave his mother alone in some _Muggle _institution.

"But, sir, it was just her hour for television! I meant no harm!" The man protested, clearly uneasy about Draco's sudden flare in anger. Draco balled his hand into a fist as if to smash the sense into the blubbering idiot, but felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder and refrained himself.

"She doesn't like loud noises," Hermione said calmly, applying pressure to Draco's arm. "Just see to it that it doesn't happen again. It's traumatizing for her."

The man nodded and apologized, and Draco blocked out anything he managed to say in protest; his chest aching for the mother he felt as though he'd abandoned on the other side of the old white door.

As Hermione was preparing to guide Draco towards the exit, the man stopped them. Draco turned his cold, hard gaze on the man in scrubs, his jaw set, and spat a "Yes?" at him.

"Your mother…she often speaks of a war that's not in the records," The man said uneasily. "She keeps talking about a snake-like man with red eyes coming after her child. She also talks about magic and a house as big as a castle full of people with ink marks on their arms trying to murder the only people that can help. Do you know what she's talking about?"

Draco gnashed his teeth together, hissing in aggravation. Did his mother have no damn privacy? Not even here? Finding the strength to respond, he gave a low grunt to verbalize his distaste for the tactless way in which he was being addressed.

"If you haven't noticed, _doctor_," Draco hissed. "We're standing in a fucking crazy house. My mother's at liberty to believe whatever the hell she wants, and don't you _dare_ tell her otherwise."

Without allowing for the man to make a comment on the subject, Draco turned on his heels and stormed through the building until he'd finally reached the exit, Hermione hot on his heels.

* * *

><p>She hadn't spoken to him the entire way home. She hadn't even asked him if he wanted anything to eat when they'd arrived back to the flat. Hermione had gone into her room and left Draco alone for a few hours. But as Draco noticed she'd gotten in the shower for the evening, he slipped into the room and made his way out on the fire escape. He sat with his head pressed against the rough bricks of the exterior of the apartment building, inhaling the crisp air and allowing the cool wind to numb his fingers; his toes; the tip of his nose.<p>

He wrapped his arms around himself and wished for someone to alleviate the pain from him—he needed a fix. Something. _Anything_. He didn't know when he felt as though he'd become invincible to pain—sometime during his time away from Hermione and his mother and everyone else, he'd supposed. But upon returning and allowing the old emotions to open up like wounds being exposed, he realized that he'd never really stopped caring.

He'd only pretended he had.

And on top of that, he wasn't sure what he felt. Guilt, for leaving his mother alone for so long? Bitter resentment, for placing her in a Muggle mental institution in the first place? Melancholy, because she'd never watch him grow old? She'd always see him as a school boy being opened up to the world's derision for disappointed hopes. Narcissa Malfoy lived in a box—her life was only as far as her memories would take her. She'd never make fresh memories or create new things; she was forever stuck in the past, poking around in only whatever fleeting images her mind would allow her to see.

And Draco knew it was only a matter of time before she forgot him, too.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, that he'd hardly noticed Hermione step out on the fire escape. She sat down next to him and laced her hands together, drawing her knees close. The pair of them just stared at the moon for several minutes, not speaking. Finally, Hermione drew her breath in, and Draco winced, anxious for her words.

"I think she was happy to see you today."

"Don't tell me what my mother feels, Hermione," Draco scolded, but there was no fire to his words. He'd long since been drained of the emotion. He toyed with his fingers, biting on his tongue to attempt to refrain himself from screaming. Finally, he heaved an aggravated sigh, his shoulders slumping forward.

"Why did I do this to her? Why did I put her in a place like that?" He asked suddenly, his voice barely carrying above a whisper.

"Because you love her," Hermione answered, turning to look at him. "And sometimes, when you love someone, you're willing to do whatever it takes for their safety. Whatever it takes to help them. Because you'd rather sacrifice the way they feel about you than their well-being."

Draco, understanding what she meant, reached forward and took her hand in his. He laced their fingers together, and she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"And sometimes," Draco replied softly, unsure as to whether or not she could hear him. "You act as though you don't care, when in reality, you'd do almost anything to turn back time. Because as rotten as it was and as toxic as things ended up being, it felt better being in it than being without."

Draco hardly knew what he was talking about anymore—and that terrified him.


	10. A True Malfoy

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hey, everyone! So, school's been rather hectic lately, and I lacked inspiration for this chapter, which explains why it's taken me a week to update. I want to thank everyone for their compliments, and for taking an interest in this story. Enjoy, everyone, and leave comments!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten: A True Malfoy<strong>

Hermione Granger often prided herself on being an individual who told the truth—lying, unless it was to protect the welfare of others—was something she never really considered. And yet, the amount of time she spent lying to people nowadays made her feel uneasy. It had almost become natural, in an eerie and toxic sort of way.

But then again, she wasn't Hermione Granger anymore. She was Hermione Malfoy, and she had a duty to fulfill—to her estranged husband; to his connections; to herself. She had to right all of her wrongs, one mistake at a time. And if that meant lying, then she was willing to use whatever means she could.

And so Hermione stood by the front door of her flat, clad in scrubs and collecting her portfolio and purse. She breathed a quick "goodbye" to Draco, who grunted from his position on the couch, and left. Glancing around quickly and skipping down the steps, Hermione exited their apartment building and ducked into a nearby alley. When she made sure no one had seen her, the young Witch pulled her wand out from her clutch and Transfigured her work uniform into a dust-colored skirt and cream blouse to match. She fixed her hair and exhaled a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

She knew what she had to do, just as she knew this meeting was inevitable. And yet, she almost restrained herself from actually going through with it—a small part of her still felt uncomfortable about even approaching the damn institution; it made her feel cold and reminded her of the bitter memories of the War. She shook her head, attempting to dismiss the guilt that lingered in her gut—the guilt for calling off work when she clearly wasn't ill, and the guilt for lying to Draco and making him believe she was really headed to St. Mungo's for her shift. But if he knew where her actual destination was, he'd never allow her to pass through the front door.

Hermione attempted to smooth out her curls before Disapparating, but then snorted to herself at the idea. She hardly believed her imprisoned Father-in-Law would give a damn what she looked like, anyways.

Inhaling sharply, Hermione finally managed to Disapparate, landing at the gates of Azkaban Prison.

* * *

><p>Lucius Malfoy was nothing more than a withered shell of the once proud and respectable Pureblood he had been. The Malfoy name, which had once filled the air with superiority and had gotten the aging man out of more trouble than he could name, now hung dead in the air and smothered those who were attached to it. With a wife driven to madness and himself landed in jail, it only seemed appropriate that the final piece of his shambled mess of a family should go to his estranged son being forced to marry a filthy little Mudblood—Harry Potter's Mudblood, to specify.<p>

Hermione knew what her father-in-law thought of her; she was no fool. Not to mention, the deteriorating man made it perfectly clear he still found himself superior to her, no matter how she addressed him. It was pathetic, really, to find a man so unwilling to conform to society; forever stuck living in a world that's long since been dead and gone. And so, as she made her way down the cold and withered corridors of Azkaban, the slight breeze chilling her bones and sending the fear creeping up her spine, Hermione stood erect, bracing herself for the onslaught of scoffing and vicious glares she was to expect. The guard, who remained nameless and silent, shuffled down the hall until he approached the rusty metal jail cell. Reaching for his wand and murmuring an incantation to himself, the door unhinged itself and creaked open, and Hermione stepped inside.

"Fifteen minutes," The guard responded gruffly, and Hermione nodded her head once—that was all she needed. She cleared her throat and rubbed her arms with chilled hands, blinking as her pupils adjusted to the sudden absence of light. Once her eyes became accustomed to the dim setting—the only light being that of a small candle on an end table next to the pile of rags that was Lucius' bed—Hermione moved forward and sat on a brown, rickety wooden chair: the chair she always sat in. Lucius, as if expecting her, was sitting in the duplicated chair opposite, his fingers laced together and a defiant scowl on his face. If it weren't for the emaciated look that the eldest Malfoy seemed to inhabit, the sunken eyes or the disheveled locks of white blonde hair, Hermione could've sworn she was looking at the same man whom she'd met in Diagon Alley so many years ago.

"You told me you wouldn't come back unless he'd returned," rasped the hoarse and condescending tone of her husband's father. Hermione swallowed heavily, her hands shaking slightly as she crossed one leg over the other. She shook her hair and sat tall, determined not to let him feel the superior one here.

"I know," She responded coolly. "And he's returned."

Lucius blinked, regarding her warily and trying to digest the fact that his son—his only son, who'd been missing for a year—had finally come home. Hermione could tell that he didn't believe her, and she didn't entirely blame him. When one spent a lifetime building a resistance and hatred towards those of inferior blood, then the threat they posed never went away. Not without help, at least.

"Has he forgiven you yet?" The head of the Malfoy clan hissed, his eyes narrowing into accusatory slits. Hermione blinked a few times, her face expressionless. She fiddled with her hands in her lap, aching to say yes. Yearning to spit in Lucius' face and tell him yes, Draco had forgiven her. But she couldn't lie, not again.

"No, I can assure you he hasn't," She responded, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

A flicker of cruel satisfaction passed through the withering face of Lucius Malfoy, and he sat taller, evidently feeling as though he had the upper hand in their situation now.

"And you're going to do whatever it takes to repeal the sentences against him? The false crimes that he was accused of all those months ago?"

Hermione shook her head stiffly, swallowing the mounting knot in her throat.

"Whatever it takes."

Lucius nodded in agreement, twisting the ring that always occupied his left hand with vigor. He mumbled some insult to himself, his brittle hair falling in front of his face, so that all that Hermione could see was a sheet of his white blonde mane. When he finally lifted his head, there was a definite amount of contempt lingering in his otherwise cold and unfeeling grey eyes.

"Your kind did this to us," He hissed, his eyes checking the Mudblood before him up and down once. She knew that was how he still felt about her—nothing more than a pathetic Mudblood with her head shoved in a book. And somehow, that didn't necessarily matter anymore. Draco didn't feel that way about her, so why should she care if anyone else did? At the mention of his name, Hermione's heart fluttered wildly. How was she so sure he didn't think that way anymore? He'd been gone a year, after all—for all she knew, he could have built up resentment for her inferior blood and raised his defenses. And yet…the way he'd treated her that night on the couch, and how he seemed so perpetually angry and hurt all the time…it was as if nothing had changed, really. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

"I am in no position to discuss this with you," Hermione snapped, clenching her tiny hands into fists. Her knuckles began turning white from the force, and she focused on controlling her aggravated breaths. Finally, when she felt as though she'd managed to compose herself again, she sat up straighter, shaking her head to clear herself of negative thoughts.

"I only came to inform you of his return," She clipped out coolly. Hermione had long since learned that this was the way she had to treat the estranged father of Draco—if she was nice or sympathetic, he'd walk all over her. If she screamed, he would find excitement in her aggravation and upset her further. "And I came to make sure that you'll stick to our end of the agreement."

Lucius paused for a moment, almost as if he was rolling the idea around in his mind. Hermione waited for a heart-stopping handful of minutes, growing anxious that the man had changed his mind and decided not to help his son after all. Finally, he cleared his throat, pursing his lips slightly. Hermione was shocked to discover that the action reminded her so much of Draco, but brushed the thought aside. She wouldn't think about his mannerisms; not right now.

"Yes, alright," He responded bitterly. "I will speak on my son's behalf."

Relief swept through her. She nodded and moved to stand, her knees buckling underneath her. That was all she needed from him—an agreement that he would stick to. Hermione fished for the portfolio she'd snatched off her desk at home from her clutch along with a quill, and thrust it in his hands.

"Sign it," She demanded, her voice echoing around the cold stone walls. "It's binding—I need to make sure you're serious in our agreement."

Lucius hesitantly plucked the quill and the document from her hands, and with a pale and trembling hand, signed the contract. Hermione licked her lips in anticipation and snatched the document and quill back before he could somehow provide harm to it, and stowed the important piece of paper back into her clutch. She and Lucius gave their awkward and contempt-filled goodbyes, and she turned to walk back towards the entrance of the cell, her heels clacking dully against the stone flooring of his cell. Right as she was about to open up the cell door, she heard Lucius clear his throat again.

"Miss Granger," He called out. "I expect to hear more about my son from you very soon."

The muscles in Hermione's back tensed, and she clenched her jaw shut, turning her head around slowly to meet his hard glare.

"It's Mrs. Malfoy," She clipped out, pride swelling inside of her. "Hermione Malfoy."

The hint of a sadistic smile turned on the corners of Lucius' mouth, and he seemed to challenge her with that cool and unmoving glare.

"You will _never_ be a Malfoy."

With wounded pride and a loss of dignity to match, Hermione turned to leave again, letting herself out of the cell and shutting the door behind her. She turned hotly on her heel, glaring at him one final time with thin lips and flared nostrils.

"I'm not sure your son would agree," She snapped, and then left in a hurry, not wanting to stick around and deal with the aftermath of her slip of tongue.

* * *

><p>Hermione was halfway down the block on the way to her flat when she realized she was in no state to deal with Draco. Her emotions had been ground to dust, and she knew that even looking at him would cause her to erupt into tears. Not to mention, she had no idea how he'd receive her—Draco was a complex figure who fought against his feelings on a daily basis. Some days, he was bitter and resentful because his emotions were struggling to remain dominant, and other days he grew so tired of holding up his defenses that he gave in. Those days were the best—it reminded Hermione of everything they'd built together, and how happy he'd made her. He still made her happy, in some odd and completely foreign sort of way.<p>

Instead, she quickly ducked into a side alley and Apparated to Ginny's flat, landing on her feet and staggering a bit in her haste to escape Draco and what surely awaited her in the confines of her own apartment. She felt a bit guilty for showing up so unexpectedly, but the worry churning in her gut soon gnawed away her doubts, and she knocked on the door, waiting for her fire-haired friend to answer. When she did, Hermione noticed that Ginny was clad in a pair of pink pajamas, and appeared to be alone.

"Hermione!" She exclaimed in shock, stepping aside and granting her friend access to enter her flat. Hermione stepped inside, pulling her coat off and hanging it on the rack Ginny always kept next to the door, and quickly kicked her shoes off. She wrapped her friend in a hug, feigning a smile of happiness as she pulled away.

"Hermione, what on Earth are you doing here?" Ginny asked, her face clearly illustrating the poor girl's confusion. Hermione tucked a strand of curly brown hair behind her ears and shrugged slightly, at a loss for words.

"Oh, I just figured you and I haven't had a girl's night in quite a while, and I miss how we used to lounge on each other's couches for hours on end, just watching movies."

There. That seemed like a decent enough lie—and besides, Hermione really _did _miss that aspect of her friendship with Ginny. Between work, Ginny's engagement to Harry, and the sudden reappearance of Draco, the two hadn't had time to catch up much with one another. Ginny smiled and nodded, clearly accepting her offer, and went to retrieve her wand from the kitchen counter. She waved it towards the cabinet and began to cook up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate—a favorite among the close friends. Hermione sighed in exhaustion, rubbing her temple with aching fingers as she made her way towards the sofa, sinking down into the soft cushion and leaning back.

When Ginny arrived with two mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate and sprinkled with marshmallows, Hermione reached for her cup greedily and sipped, the warm liquid slithering down her throat. She noticed Ginny ruffling through a large pile of movies on the floor, mumbling to herself as she searched for the one she most wished to watch. Clicking her tongue in delighted pleasure, she popped a cassette from its case and slipped it into the telly, setting up the film before sauntering back over to the couch and flopping down, picking up her mug and drinking.

Hermione waited to see what film it was Ginny had seemed so keen to put on and traced her finger along the handle of her mug, her thoughts getting lost in Draco again. Would he forgive her if she set things right? Was there any way to prove to her husband that her intentions, however badly they might have failed, were produced with good intentions? And how did he feel about the way they'd treated one another, exactly? No doubt, the night on the fire escape after visiting Narcissa had proved that Draco hadn't _totally _forgotten about her, but that didn't mean he didn't want to.

Knowing him, that was probably at the top of his wish list.

"Hermione," came the soft voice of Ginny, and Hermione forced herself to sink back into reality, and slowly brought her gaze to her friend. She forced a small smile and allowed her eyes to focus on Ginny before she dared respond.

"Yeah, Ginny?"

"If he's still as stubborn and strong-willed as he was a year ago…" Ginny began, and Hermione swallowed, recognizing where this path was headed. "…and if he still acts like the same arrogant arsehole with this cynical and seemingly stoic personality, but meanwhile experiences these emotions that would shock even that of the most passionate persona—"

"Ginny, please…"

"—then he'll come around."

Hermione froze, her hands tightening on her mug as she eyed her friend with interest.

Wishing for Ginny to be correct was futile—Hermione knew she'd never be properly forgiven for what she'd done to Draco, and didn't entirely blame him for the fact. But the thought of a life with him in content once the six months were up was sweet and filled with sinful bliss, and so the fraction of her being dedicated to hope and faith couldn't help but to invest itself in Ginny's optimistic words.

It was the only thing she had left to keep her going.


	11. The Decision

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! I'd like to thank you all for reading, and it would mean a lot to me if you could review! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you all like it, as well!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: <strong>The Decision

It had been hours. Hours, and nothing but silence lay around the flat Draco shared with Hermione. She should have been home by now—her shift would've ended hours ago. Draco didn't want to admit he was worried or even curious as to the whereabouts of his wife, because doing so would also be admitting that he still possessed any positive emotions towards the woman who had single-handedly ruined the life they'd built. He knew deep down what he felt for her, and the Malfoy pride that surged inside of him was adamant to make sure that he didn't profess those emotions; he had to keep at least some of his dignity, or he'd sink like a rock.

When at last he felt as though he was going mad wondering where she was, Draco bounded off the couch and snatched his jacket off the hook, quickly throwing it on and groping in his pocket for his wand. He retrieved the thin piece of wood and licked his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to think of the first place he could—he knew she wouldn't be at work any longer, and Draco had no intention of stepping back into _that _place; they'd probably lock him up on the fourth floor for surveillance or something equally as ridiculous.

He remembered, then, that if anyone were to know where she was located, it would be the Weaslette. Draco had bitterly grown to accept during the duration of his marriage to Hermione that she and Ginny would continue to remain close friends, despite his disapproval. And in all actuality, Draco had no legitimate reason to dislike the girl, other than who her family was and—more specifically—who her brother was. Ginny had made it well-known several times throughout the course of a few years just how little she thought of Draco and how well-suited _Ron _would've been for Hermione. When at first the gesture had simply made him laugh, her insults finally wore him down to the point of grinding his teeth together whenever he was forced to even look at her. To be compared to the penniless rodent was to be compared to the Dark Lord, for all that Draco felt about the situation.

And so, with distaste lacing his tongue and a grim expression to match, Draco Disapparated from the comfort of his home, leaving a mildly curious Crookshanks in his wake. Landing with a soft thud outside the apartment complex of the youngest of the Weasley children, Draco barged through the front door after hitting a dozen different bells and finally being granted access by one very frustrated elderly man who had apparently been sleeping.

He ran up the stairs two at a time, remembering where Ginny's flat was—he'd spent many a night pounding on her door and yelling at Hermione through the thin walls, demanding she speak with him after they'd had one of their spats. When at last he reached the narrow corridor and approached the freshly-painted white door, a sense of déjà vu washed over Draco, and he began to doubt his decision to even arrive in the first place. It was possible that Hermione wasn't even here—she could've been with anyone, really, or anywhere. And who was to say that it was even an intelligent idea for him to be there in the first place? He'd told himself upon returning that he'd keep his emotions in check, but clearly he hadn't bothered to think of his impulsive nature. He hissed to himself and yet managed to stride over to the door, knocking loudly and clearly.

No answer. Bugger. He knocked again, harder and louder than before. Draco held his breath, straining to hear for any sounds coming from the opposite side of the door. He heard the dull roar of a television and then detected the rustling movement of a pair of feet making their way across a hardwood floor, and was about to bang on the door impatiently once more when the latch was undone and the door thrown open. He was staring at the face of a bewildered Weasley, who was wearing a pair of pink pajamas and regarding Draco with a haughty and uncertain glare.

"Malfoy," She began, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Have you seen Hermione?" He demanded roughly. Ginny stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment, and Draco rolled his eyes, shoving her arm aside and granting himself access into her flat. He spun around to look at her, determined aggravation smeared across his features.

"I won't ask again, Weasley," He growled. "_Have you seen my wife?_"

Just then, he heard a small cough from behind him and spun around to stare into the face of none other than Hermione herself—hovering a few feet away from him with a cautious glare.

"Draco," She began, confusion lacing her tone. "What are you doing here?"

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me where you were?" He spat, ignoring her question.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Ginny shrieked in protest, crossing the room to stand by a very baffled-looking Hermione. Hermione opened her mouth as if to speak, but appeared to choke on the words that so desperately wished to roll off her tongue.

"Stay out of this, Weasley," Draco hissed, narrowing his eyes at the redhead before him. He shifted his gaze back to his wife, raising on blonde brow as he waited impatiently for her response.

"Why do you care, Draco?" Hermione responded coldly, her lips pressed together in a thin line. He licked his lips in aggravation, trying to convince himself not to snatch her out of this damned place that smelled of rodent incest and obnoxious Ginger, and instead cleared his throat, jutting his chin forward.

"Never mind why I care," He growled. "You're coming home with me." Draco reached out and grabbed Hermione's wrist, making to drag her to the front door with him, but he felt her wrench her hand free of his ironclad grip, and he turned to glare at her, his eyes shimmering with anger.

"Don't act as though you can just tell me what to do and I'll do it!" Hermione yelled, and Draco noticed she'd balled her hands into tight fists. Ginny hovered behind Hermione, uncertain as to whether or not she should kick Draco out of her house. His gaze darted back and forth between the pair, and finally he managed to produce a hearty scoff.

"Unbelievable," Draco muttered, rolling his tongue around on the inside of his mouth and turning to leave. How had he been so stupid to even come in the first place? It was foolish, really, and he'd kick himself later for slipping so easily into his habit of succumbing to the raging impulses that drove his conscious.

He didn't know whether or not Hermione was following him, and he didn't rightfully care. He had embarrassed himself by even showing up to the damn flat in the first place; it had been a crack in the wall he'd constructed since his departure. Without turning to look back, he fumbled around with the knob, finally twisting it and throwing the door open. He left in a flurry of anger and desperation, slamming it behind him and scrambling to run down the steps two at a time, just as hasty to leave as he had been to enter.

As he left the apartment building in a rush, he noticed it had begun to snow in his absence, and he grumbled to himself, wrapping his coat tightly around him. He stalked down the sidewalk, the flakes obscuring his vision as they fell in fat clumps. The frozen slush stung and bit his skin, forming a thin layer on top of his already pale hair. He was about to turn the corner and find an alley to Disapparate from when he heard the patter of feet behind him, followed by a feminine voice calling out his name.

Slowly, he turned around, his grey eyes growing icy when he spotted Hermione walking towards him. He noticed how pretty she looked with the flakes sticking to her curly hair, and was hit with a strong sense of déjà vu, remembering a time when she had walked down this exact sidewalk in the middle of the snow.

_"Draco…" Hermione said softly, moving towards him. He leaned against the lamppost, the lone light spilling over his silhouette as he studied his wife curiously. She moved closer to him and placed her hand on his cheek, but he flinched away. Hermione dropped her hand, stung, and wrung the mittens she was clutching in her other hand together, her fingers turning purple from the cold._

_ "I—can't you forgive me?" She whispered, the words barely coming out. They were choked and strangled, as though she was fighting against her pride just to utter them._

_ At least he had taught her that much._

_ "No, Hermione," He responded coldly. "This time, you've gone too far."_

"Draco…" Hermione breathed again, stepping forward. Draco shook his head, dismissing the negative memories from his mind and allowing himself to become absorbed in the sight of her. He thought that being away from her for a year might cause the ache in his chest to lessen. He figured that maybe, spending twelve months apart from the only person he'd ever grown to truly care for would cause him to fold into the carefully crafted shell of a person he once was. That he'd forget the soft way in which she uttered his name; the way her hips dipped and curved in the most enticing of ways. How her lips would purse slightly when she concentrated on something, or that glassy hue that covered her soft brown eyes whenever she was succumbing to an emotion she couldn't control.

But no, of course not. Wishing for such things was futile, and Draco was a fool for not figuring that out sooner. He regarded her with a cautious stare as she closed the distance between them, and his eyes lingered on her petite form, his mind growing numb from the close contact. He could hardly breathe—hardly blink—hardly think. It was as though his body was shutting down, and all he could focus on was the Witch in front of him.

"It doesn't have to be over, you know," She whispered and he felt her hot breath stir against his face from the close contact. He swallowed heavily, his throat aching in the process. He shook his head stiffly, his fingers yearning to run through her soft curls, damp with melting snow.

"I already told you, Hermione: when the six months are up, I'm leaving," He whispered, and the act of spitting out those words was more painful than nearly anything he'd ever done. She stared at him for a moment, nothing but the tears brimming in her eyes giving away the fact that she had reacted in any sort of way to his words.

"Well then," She began, and he heard her voice quiver dangerously. "I suggest we make the most out of the remaining months we have together."

That's when Draco began to feel like an arse—a conceited and foolish man. She'd made a mistake, yes, and a wretched one at that, but she was also so willing. So willing to let him use her and leave her, just so that she could spend a few fleeting weeks of passion with him. She was willing to do everything that she could to right her wrong, and in that moment, Draco realized how serious this was. She loved him—she actually loved him. Realizing that he hadn't been fooling himself that she'd been in love with him for this long eased the burden he was carrying on his back, and also caused something to twist in his chest.

And in that moment, Draco made a decision. A pact with himself that would alter the entire course of action he'd been preparing for thus far. It would change everything—his entire reason for returning, his promise to stay stoic and detached. It would ruin everything he'd built in her absence, but he hardly gave a damn. It was as though all of his current problems melted away. He knew that he'd have to deal with them in the morning, or the day after that. He knew this brash decision could ruin him forever, but Draco almost welcomed that aspect of it.

Draco moved, stepping back into the deserted street, his shoes brushing aside the thin layer of snow that now coated the ground. The sun had already long since set, and Draco stood masked in the dark, the milky hue of the moon outlining his silhouette. He held his hand out to her, and a small smirk threatened to slip onto his face. Hermione stared after him curiously, stepping forward a bit but maintaining her distance, her eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly.

"Just you and I, remember?" He said finally, his voice barely rising above a whisper. Her eyes widened slightly at his words, and Hermione stepped forward, her hand hovering over his own, as though she was debating taking his hand into hers. Slowly, she lifted her brown eyes to meet his, and blinked twice.

"You and I?" She breathed, her chest shuddering with suppressed sobs.

"Until our world comes crashing down."

Hermione's eyes, never leaving his, searched his grey irises for an answer she'd never find—something that had long since been deceased in her seemingly detached husband. The seconds ticked by—an infinite amount of time that stretched between the pair of them and carried on for ages.

And then, Hermione's fingers brushed against his. He pulled her close, wrapping one hand around her waist and curling the fingers of his other hand around hers. Hermione lifted the hand that wasn't intertwined with his up to his shoulder, and looked at him with an onslaught of emotions that Draco couldn't decipher. He tilted his face down to look at her, a whisper of a sorrowful smile on his face as he began to sway side to side with her.

"Do you remember how often we used to dance?" He whispered, his breath coming out in warm wisps against the cold air. Hermione's lips twitched as if she wanted to smile, and the smallest inclination of her head proved to Draco that she did, indeed, remember them like that.

"The last time we danced like this was—"

"The night we lost Scorpius. Yes, I know."

"Do you still regret it, Draco?"

"Regret what, Hermione?" He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, and continued to dance in a slow and sensual path with her pressed tightly against him.

"About what…about what happened with that?"

He pulled away slightly, raising one blonde brow.

"I regret a lot of the things that happened to us in the final days."

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Hermione choked out, holding back a sob.

"Hermione, just…stop," Draco cut her off, releasing his hold on her back to twirl her before bringing her back. Hermione nodded her head, leaning forward and resting her cheek on Draco's shoulder, her body heaving with silent sobs.

He stopped moving just then, the snow falling down quickly and in thicker flakes around them. Hermione looked up at him, her tongue between her lips. They showed an all-knowing look in that moment, and both knew what they wanted, but not necessarily needed.

And they also knew each other well enough to realize that they'd give in to their desires. At least for the night.

* * *

><p>They hadn't Apparated to their flat any sooner than Hermione pounced on him. She ran against him, hopping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. Draco grabbed her waist with his hands, his fingers splayed across the small of her back as she ran her hands through his hair. Her lips crushed against his, and Draco opened his mouth greedily as their tongues danced in a struggle for power.<p>

Vaguely aware of where they were and what they were doing, Draco held her as he staggered through the kitchen and towards the bedroom, kicking the door open with his foot. Hermione's teeth sunk into his lower lip, and he grunted with pleasure. The large bed looked soft and invited as he dragged his feet towards it, and his abdomen twisted in anticipation as he remembered days when the pair would spend hours together in that bed. He threw her down on the bed and made to hastily unbutton his shirt, slinging it off with his jacket. Hermione pulled her blouse over her head, her curls bouncing around her face as her chest heaved with excitement. He grew mesmerized by the site of her, and hovered with his hands over his belt as he drunk in the site of her as she removed the rest of her clothing.

He'd miss her when he left.

Draco shook his head, dismissing such morbid and melancholy thoughts, and hastily removed his trousers and boxers, kicking them aside and moving alongside her on the bed. They were on their knees, facing one another, and Hermione reached out a hand, her finger trailing along his torso and down to his abdomen, feeling his erection and grabbing it in her palm. Draco's hips twitched of their own accord, and he felt himself growing harder by the minute—fleeting images of them tangled in sheets together rose to his mind, and he grew impatient to be inside of her again. To remember how it felt, though it had already happened twice since he'd returned.

Slowly, she began to run her hand up and down the length of his shaft, causing a shuddering gasp to erupt from the back of Draco's throat. He sat up straighter, and gave a low and throaty moan as she began pumping him—slow at first, and then faster and faster. Draco leaned forward and crushed his lips against hers, tangling his fists in her curly hair and shaking with the pleasure that was exploding within him. So many memories, and he didn't want to forget them. Never again. He swore to himself, once he'd gained his memories back all those months ago, that he'd never forget, because remembering was too precious.

Finally, when he felt he could handle the pressure no longer, he broke free and lifted her hands off of the throbbing member positioned between his legs, a hungry gaze growing in his silver eyes.

"Hermione," He whispered fiercely. "Do you remember what your favorite thing for me to do was?"

"Of—of course I do, Draco," Hermione breathed, her breasts rising as she inhaled sharply. He allowed his gaze to linger on them for a moment before his eyes bore into hers. She grew pale and licked her lips deliciously at the insinuation, and Draco nodded his head, his lips itching to broaden into a devious smirk.

"Turn around," He ordered gruffly. "And bend over."

Hermione's eyes grew wide at his command, and excitedly she turned around, leaning on her palms and bending over, spreading her legs and exposing herself to him. Draco's cock twitched at the sight, and he scooted closer to her, his hands roughly grabbing hold of her arse. His nails dug into her skin, which produced a small whimper of pleasure from the Witch in front of him.

Draco positioned himself closer to her, his aching erection rubbing against her arse and the edge of her entrance, which produced a wanton moan from the woman on her knees before him.

"Draco…" She pleaded, twisting her head around to look at him. She desperately began to shove herself against him, anxious for him to enter her. As his cock pulsated with the desire he could no longer hold back, Draco raised a hand to her hair, snaking his fingers in her mass of knotted curls. He pulled slightly on her hair, causing her back to arch as he positioned himself. He then proceeded to enter her without holding back, the force of his penetration causing a dulcet moan to escape through Hermione's lips.

Draco allowed a small cry to slip through his lips as he slammed into her, feeling this delicious angle of her cunt that he'd missed and hadn't entered in a long time. He shifted his hips, feeling inside of her and pressing his pelvis against her arse. Hermione cried out in an excruciating wail of pleasure, shoving her arse further against him in order to get as much of him inside of her as possible.

Draco, encouraged by this reaction, slipped out of her, his cock throbbing before he slammed into her again, the sound of flesh smacking against flesh filling the room and mixing with their cries.

"Oh, oh Salazar I haven't felt this in a long time," He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He pulled tighter on Hermione's hair, and her back arched willingly for him, a deep and throaty groan emanating from the back of her throat.

"More, Draco, more! Harder!" She panted, twisting her hips and feeling him inside of her.

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck prickled deliciously, and he found himself more than willing to fill her command. His thrusts increased in speed, and he panted heavily, his chest shuddering as each thrust permitted him to go deeper and deeper inside of her. He felt his cock quiver with each shift of his hips, and Hermione's screams filled the bedroom.

"Draco! Draco!" She screamed, and something about the way she cried for him caused his body to shudder in sinful delight, and he slumped forward, his torso resting against her back as he shifted his hips and came inside of her. The height of his orgasm was delicious, and he rode it gladly, the aftermath causing his body to twitch painfully. Wanting to feel her release, Draco moved himself around inside of her, producing moans and grunts until Hermione arched her back, and Draco sat up again, yanking on her hair as her hard nipples brushed against the bedsheets.

When at last Hermione's orgasm arrived, he watched as her body convulsed uncontrollably, the muscles in her clit spasming against him as she flooded with ecstasy, and Draco hummed and sighed in pleasure, the final act of her release calming him. Hermione's arms gave way beneath her and she fell face forward on the bed, Draco slipping out of her in the process.

His own legs being wobbly and his body shaken from the aftermath of their forbidden lust, Draco tumbled forward on the bed next to her, turning to lie on his back. His legs tangled around the sheets and he panted heavily, his chest rising and falling as he gulped in air. Several moments passed like that; both of them regaining their breath and strength, and Draco soon found his eyes beginning to droop. Their physical activity had worn him out, and Draco was preparing to head back out to the sitting room and fall asleep on the couch when Hermione cleared her throat.

She tilted her head to look at him, still sprawled on the bed, laying on her stomach.

"Draco," She began, breathless. "Will you just—could you…would you mind—"

She seemed to struggle with the words—unable to finish her request. As though she was ashamed to feel them, or as if she was afraid to ask. Draco licked his lips and turned his head to look at her, studying his wife closely.

"Yes," He stated, his voice hoarse. "I'll stay tonight."

Hermione craned her neck and looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips as her eyes widened in shock. Slowly, her hand slid across the bed, and her fingers brushed against his until her hand rested on top of his. He flinched slightly, but rather than pull away, out of habit Draco turned his hand palm up and allowed Hermione to lace her fingers in his.

Just like old times.


	12. Package Deal

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **I apologize for taking a bit to update! Things have been really hectic with school, but luckily winter break has just started! Now, I've gotten a few comments and PMs about one question, and I'd like to clear things up right away. A lot of people have been asking me why Hermione Obliviated Draco, and asked me if they'd missed it. Well, the entire point of the fic is to keep people guessing, so no, it hasn't been revealed as to why she did it yet. Some clues have been dropped, but I just suggest you keep reading to find out! As always, thanks for reading . I'm going to recommend "Journey to the Past" from _Anastasia_ just because I loved that film as a child and because, well, I can! There are some parts of this chapter I'm satisfied with, and others not, so as always, leave comments and enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Package Deal<strong>

Hermione awoke the next morning sore and curled up in Draco's arms. Her back was pressed against his chest, and she blinked a few times, adjusting her vision to the morning sun streaming in through the curtains of her bedroom. She had almost forgotten what had occurred the previous night until her conscious dragged itself awake, and she became very aware of a pair of warm arms cradling her close. She was tempted to fall back asleep; to nestle closer to him and just allow the peace that had slipped between the pair of them to settle. She just wanted it to last a little longer.

But it was wrong, and she knew it. Hermione expected for Draco to awaken and shove her away, scoffing at the fact that he'd shared the bed with her and telling her to sod off, as he'd grown into the habit of doing the last several weeks since his return. And so her breath hitched in her throat as she felt him stir, and her muscles grew rigid as she waited for the explosion. When he didn't shove her away or yell at her, though, Hermione grew worried. She twisted her body to face him, her chocolate brown eyes growing wide with anticipation as she noticed his grey eyes search her face.

Finally, he opened his mouth, and Hermione began to curse herself for thinking that peace was possible.

_Here it comes. Here comes the screaming and how he believes I somehow took advantage of him. He'll call me wretched names and I'll take it all in silence; I'll fight back, but keep my emotions reigned in, for the most part. If only he would just—_

"I'm sorry I went a little rough on you last night," He murmured, his hazy eyes growing more alert with each passing second. Hermione snatched herself out of her thoughts, her mouth gaping open in astonishment. What…no yelling? No tantrum? No fighting? This was very uncharacteristic of the Draco who had returned to her, and she squirmed uncomfortably within his grasp.

"No, no," She protested softly, shaking her head. "I…I enjoyed it." A small blush crept on her face, and she watched him take it all in, the whispering hints of a smirk itching to broaden across his alabaster face. He leaned down, pressing his lips against the bare skin of her neck. She felt the tingling familiarity of his full lips brush against her skin, and gave a small gasp as he opened his mouth slightly and allowed his tongue to flick out and lick the skin of her neck, his teeth nibbling her most sensitive spots.

"Ohh—uhnn, Draco," Hermione whispered, her eyes fluttering closed. She'd meant to tell him something, but her brain was clouded with the feel of him, and her body tingled in sinful and delicious pleasure as his lips moved across the length of her throat.

"I—I have to—ohh—I have to go to the uhm…the ball to celebrate Harry and Ginny's engagement tonight," She managed to sputter out, her thighs rubbing together as his mouth left hot and sensational kisses across her skin. He'd managed to slide his lips down to the curves of her breasts by now, and was sucking on them gently, tenderly biting his most favored spots of her flesh. Subconsciously, she pushed herself against him, licking her swollen lips. It felt so pleasant; such a sweet and gentle gesture, and yet her body was already reacting to him in the most erotic of ways. He knew how to get her aroused just with a simple kiss—it was something she'd always loved about him.

After she'd finished speaking, however, he brought his lips away from her skin and rose so that the tips of their noses brushed together, his face devoid of any emotion.

"I'll go with you," He stated, as though it was something inarguable. Hermione's heart faltered for a moment, and her brown brows knit together as she stared at him, perplexed. Was this really the same man she'd been staying with for the past few weeks? He reminded her so much of his former self in those fleeting moments, that she had to remind herself that everything that had crashed between them a year ago had, in fact, actually happened.

"You will?" She asked, confused. Draco nodded once, nibbling on his bottom lip. She studied him for a few more moments, letting the realization of what was occurring settle between them. He moved to stand, the sheets falling free and exposing his pale and bare body to her in its entirety. She tried not to look at him below his pelvis, not wanting to get caught staring at the region between his thighs, and instead focused her gaze on his soft mop of unkempt white blonde hair. He held his hand out to her, and she took it hesitantly, moving to stand in front of him. Hermione felt the sheets slither off her body, and she forced herself not to wrap her arms around her torso to cover herself.

Slowly, Draco began to lead Hermione towards the bathroom, his grey eyes never leaving her soft brown ones. Her heart thudded violently in her chest, and she wondered what his aim was. Did he want to take her again in the shower like he had those few weeks ago? She wasn't sure.

Without speaking, Draco let go of her hand once they'd reached the bathroom, and he turned to close the door behind them. Before Hermione had a chance to question him—not that she had the voice to, of course, she was much too in shock—Draco made his way over to the linen closet, grabbing two soft blue cotton towels and slinging them over the wall of the shower. He leaned in and turned the faucet of the shower on full blast, and soon it screeched to life, the only sound being that of the water droplets pattering against the floor of the shower.

He moved to step into the cabin of the shower, beckoning her with a simple and half-hearted gesture of his hand. As though she were in a dream, Hermione fumbled over herself, finally making her way towards him. She followed him into the shower, and was vaguely aware that he'd shut the shower door behind them, allowing them to become covered in a thin sheath of steam.

The water cascaded down her back and coated her smooth skin, giving her flesh a silky and glossy texture. She felt her curly brown hair grow heavier as it expanded like a rubber band and slithered down the length of her back, resting in the middle of her back, the wild curls wet and plastered to her skin.

"Draco, what are you—" She asked breathlessly, looking up at him in confusion. The edges of her lips turned into a frown, but he gave her a stern glare, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her around so that she wasn't facing him.

"Quit trying to figure everything out," He snapped, and she felt him twist behind her, as though he was attempting to locate something. She heard what appeared to be the rummaging of bottles, and the blood rushed through her ears, and all Hermione could seem to focus on was the pounding of her skull as he placed his hands on her head.

"I don't understand what you're getting at," Hermione croaked out, confused and angry with him for his sudden change in attitude so that hot tears stung the corners of his eyes.

"Not everything is about revenge and sex, Hermione," He stated flatly, his hands working wonders as it rubbed the shampoo into her scalp. Subconsciously, she allowed her eyes to flutter closed and leaned against him, sighing.

"Then what is it about?"

"I told you last night—you and I."

The way he said those words; they made her heart flutter, and she couldn't help but to cling to a small and distorted part of hope that still resided in the depths of her heart. As she brushed against his backside, her bum felt the region between his legs, and she gave a small gasp. His erection was growing more prominent by the minute, and she swallowed the rising lump in her throat.

"Draco," She began warily. "Did you want to—"

"No, Hermione."

"But—but you…"

"I said no," Draco said gruffly, and moved her so that she was standing further under the stream of water, allowing his fingers to run through her wet curls as the shampoo washed itself from her hair.

They passed a handful of seconds in silence, and Hermione soon felt Draco's lips against the crook of her neck, his tongue licking up the droplets of water that resided there. He sucked on the tender skin occupying her throat, and she had to fight against the urge to beg him to take her right there. Instead, she jerked away and turned around, her brown brows furrowing.

"Well, that's hardly fair of you to turn me down and then do stuff like that to me!" She said, her lips tugged down into a pout. She heard Draco snicker, and he moved to snatch the washcloth from its hanging position, wetting it and applying the body wash.

"I wasn't aware if you knew this or not," He commented dryly. "But I was a Slytherin. The odds of playing fair would be the equivalent of a Hufflepuff losing a game of hide-and-seek."

"Don't try to be cute," She snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, I don't have to try," He added brightly, handing her the cloth. "It just happens naturally."

"You can act like the biggest twat, you know that?"

"At least I don't _have_ the biggest twat. It was a little loose and breezy down there last night, you might want to work on closing your legs more often."

Hermione knew by the way he was speaking that it was only a joke—he'd often taken the same tone with her in the past. Their playful banter had always been an easy way to diffuse the tension between them, and she smirked at him, throwing the washcloth at his chest. A devious hint of a smile flickered across his features as the wash rag fell on the ground between them, and he reached out and pulled her into the line of the shower.

Hermione let out a breathless laugh as the water pounded down on her, and she attempted to wriggle free of his grasp. He wrapped his hands around her waist and tickled the sensitive dip by her pelvis, eliciting a delicious little giggle to emanate from the Witch.

She finally broke free and skirted towards the opposite side of the shower, her body still shuddering with small bursts of laughter. He ran after her, scooping her up in his arms and causing her to let out a small squeal in protest.

"Draco, stop!" She said through her laughter, wriggling in his grip. He leaned down and kissed her once on the mouth—her lips ached for more, but he pulled away too soon and just like that, it was gone. He stepped back, leading them both back into the line of water that shot from the spout, and Hermione blinked once, the water coating her lashes.

"The water bill's going to be outrageous, you know," She commented quietly, captivated by his piercing grey eyes.

"Fortunately," He murmured, a whisper of a smile etched onto his face. "I really don't give a damn."

* * *

><p>It had been a year since Draco had seen Harry, and Hermione was worried about what his reaction would be. It had been a year since he'd seen any of her friends, really, aside from Ron and Ginny, and she couldn't help but wonder what had provoked his sudden decision to attend the celebratory ball with her. She suspected it was because he didn't feel comfortable leaving her unsupervised with Ron, but one never knew with Draco. Hermione was having a difficult time just trying to decipher his emotions on a day-to-day basis, let alone his thoughts.<p>

They had Apparated to the edge of the Burrow, and Hermione led Draco through the grass, approaching the tall and lean house. She was careful not to take Draco's hand or brush against him, figuring distance would be best in this situation. The courteous aversion seemed welcome by Draco, as he had his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black trousers.

"Just as ugly and poor-looking as I remember it," He grumbled under his breath. A retort rolled on the edge of Hermione's tongue, but she suppressed it, realizing she was happy he had even deigned to attend the party with her in the first place. She knew he'd probably have a miserable time tonight, and the thought of him being alone with any of the Weasleys or even Harry made Hermione's stomach lurch nervously.

Hermione approached the front door and lifted a hand, knocking once. She realized as soon as her knuckles rapped against the aged wooden door that she hadn't even bothered to warn anyone that she was bringing a guest, and so she bit her lip nervously. Draco must've noticed her reaction, because he gave a low snort—she could practically hear the smirk shining through the mocking gesture.

Lowering her hand, Hermione heard a rustling of locks come from the other side of the door, and soon it was thrown open to reveal a disheveled Molly Weasley, who was beaming at her. She wrapped Hermione into a hug, thanking her for attending and blathering about how George was causing a ruckus in the backyard with some of his new gadgets, and that she'd arrived just in time. When she pulled back, however, her kind eyes fell on Draco, and an unsettled expression passed over her face. Hermione watched the woman falter for a moment before forcing a smile in Draco's direction, nodding for him to come inside as well.

"Well, this is certainly a surprise," She said, and Hermione could detect the forced cheerfulness in her tone. Hermione knew how badly Molly had wanted her and Ron to reconcile, and bringing Draco to this family event probably did nothing for her wishes. It had always been difficult for Hermione to tell if anyone in the Weasley family was even capable of tolerating her ex-Death Eater husband, but she assumed that the lot of them detested him just because of whom he was. Who he'd been, that is to say. In Draco's defense, he had done quite a bit to redeem himself in her eyes, and so Hermione always found it difficult to believe that people couldn't see what she did in him. Then again, no one knew him like she did.

Draco merely nodded curtly, eyeing her with masked disgust. He detested the Weasleys as much as they did him, and Hermione surmised that this was mostly due to his inability to overcome the fact that she and Ron had been a couple at one point in time. Not that she could blame him, necessarily—the entire Weasley lot still had hope that they'd get back together.

"I'm sorry we're late, Molly," Hermione apologized, smiling softly at the elder woman. Molly tore her eyes away from Draco long enough to smile and laugh, wrapping Hermione in a motherly hug and shushing her.

"That's alright, dear, quite alright," Molly fussed, pulling away and studying Hermione's figure closely. Hermione had decided upon wearing a strapless lavender-colored dress that graced just right below her knees, and looked rather well when matched with Draco's black suit.

"The tent's already set up round back, and the setting sky looks brilliant with it!" Molly gushed, turning around in a flurry of skirts as though she was looking for something. "Make sure to go and get yourself something to eat, Hermione dear, you look a little thin. You too, Draco, help yourselves." As though she'd found her object of interest, Molly's face lit up and she scurried off into an unseen room, leaving Draco and Hermione unattended.

"Are you doing alright?" Hermione asked suddenly, and then scolded herself for even inquiring in the first place. She had to remind herself that things weren't the same between them anymore, whether or not he was being unusually kind to her. Draco shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly, closing the distance between them in order to stand by her side.

"Now or never, right?" He asked, in a bland sort of way that suggested he was hiding his true feelings on the matter from her. Not wishing to start a fight, Hermione merely nodded and began to make her way through the cozy Burrow, her heels clacking against the flooring as she approached the back door. She threw the sliding door open and stepped out, Draco hot on her heels. She allowed him to shut the door behind them as she took in the sight of the backyard.

It was beautiful, truly, and reminded her so much of Bill and Fleur's wedding reception. A large white tent stood in the backyard, under which were tables and chairs, and a wooden platform was situated in the middle for dancing. The sun had descended into the Earth quickly since they'd arrived, and the stars were already beginning to twinkle and glow in the blanket of dark blue sky above. A small smile was etched onto her features, and Hermione swayed from side to side for a moment, vaguely taking in the soft ballad that was playing.

"Hermione!" came the ecstatic call of Ginny, and Hermione whipped her head around to see her ginger-haired best friend saunter up to her in a very pretty floor-length white dress that covered her arms, wrapping her friend into a warm embrace.

"Aren't you cold?" She asked, pulling away. Hermione shivered a little, nodding guiltily. She'd been so worried about Draco coming with her tonight that she'd forgotten the impracticality of wearing a strapless dress to an outdoor event in the beginning of December. With a huff, Ginny rolled her eyes playfully and grabbed her bushy-haired friend's hand, leading her towards the tent. Hermione twisted her head around and noticed Draco surveying the area; her eyes pleaded for him to look at her, and when their eyes finally locked, he nodded once and followed her. She hated that she couldn't tell what he was thinking—how he was reacting. Oh, what she would do to comfort him and have the old Draco back…

But no, no, she couldn't. She'd long since annihilated that part of the poor man.

Once Hermione had stepped through the boundaries of the tent, she was relieved to discover that the Weasleys had placed a warming charm surrounding the large area, making the space occupying the tent warm and comfortable. She exhaled, rolling her shoulders and standing erect as she took the place in. It was beautiful, but in a modest sort of way. Lilacs adorned each white clothed table, and Hermione smiled at the thought that Molly more than likely hand-picked these herself.

"It looks beautiful, Ginny," Hermione said sincerely, and she heard Draco grunt from behind her. She forced herself not to throw him a hateful glare, instead settling her attention on the blushing bride-to-be before her. Ginny gave a short laugh in response, her mouth cracking into a wide grin as she led Hermione over to one of the tables. The pair sat down, and Ginny offered Hermione one of the flutes of champagne that was sitting on the table. Hermione gladly took the glass, lifting it to her lips. She placed her mouth around the rim and sipped daintily, her eyes absorbing the brilliant decorations.

"Harry thinks it's a bit much, but you know how Mum is," Ginny explained, twirling one of her cherry red curls around a slender and manicured finger. Hermione simply nodded in understanding—it was true, she knew how overbearing Molly could be with her children, but she didn't really blame her.

Especially not when her only daughter was marrying the one and only Harry Potter.

"Well, Harry always one for modesty and more humble surroundings," Hermione reasoned, her gaze flitting from guest to guest. She saw people she'd attended school with—from Dean Thomas to Luna Lovegood to Neville Longbottom. All ex-classmates who had grown into themselves and made something of themselves once the aftermath of the War had died down. A small smile played on the corners of her mouth as she watched them all dance and engage in light-hearted banter, reminiscing on their school days together.

It was almost like they were all together again, and things hadn't changed. Preposterous, of course, everything had changed in the course of just a few short years. And yet…something was missing. _Someone _was missing.

"Ginny," Hermione inquired, her brows furrowed together as she tore her gaze away from the joyous guests back to her best friend. "Where's Ron?"

Ginny had been taking a sip of her drink, and swallowed quickly at her friend's question, sighing in annoyance and brushing a stray strand of bright red hair out of her face.

"_Ron _is out on business," She said sourly, obviously displeased that her own brother wasn't there to celebrate the engagement of his only sister and best friend. At her agitation, Hermione decided it was best to drop the subject—she didn't want to ruin Ginny's night by discussing the man whom infuriated both of them on a daily basis. Ron had always been…

"I don't care what the fuck you think, I can bloody well be here if I want to!" came the agitated and loud drone of a voice that cut off her train of thought and was all-too familiar to Hermione—_Draco._

Her heart hammered violently in her chest, and she whipped her head around, her chocolate brown eyes growing wide at the sight before her. Harry and Draco were so close that the tips of their noses could've brushed together, their chests heaving erratically with anger.

"Well, you should care what I think, _Malfoy_, because this is my bloody engagement party!" Harry snapped back, his face flushing with rage. Hermione could notice all the tell-tale signs of fury in both of them—then again, she was certain any bloody fool could've. Her breathing halted for a moment, and she was too struck by the suddenness of it all to use the best of her logic and break them apart.

"I'm here with my _wife_, Potter!" Draco shrieked, backing up a bit and flailing his arms around.

"You mean the one you _deserted_?"

Even Hermione flinched at that one.

"Don't _pretend _you know what I was going through," Draco managed to hiss, and Hermione could hear his voice quivering. He was angry, to be sure, but he was also a wounded and dejected soul. As though his response set her feet into action, Hermione bounded from her chair and walked at a brisk pace over to the pair of infuriated men, stepping between them. She turned to face Harry first, a stern glare on her face.

"I invited him," She lied, knowing quite well that Draco had, technically, invited himself. But it's not as though she had refused him or anything. "And he's—I—please, Harry, try and understand." She was desperate to receive her best friend's approval; and while she knew she probably never would, it was still a hope that buried itself deep into the crevices of her mind.

"Hermione," Harry said in a warning tone, his glare never moving from Draco's. "You know how I feel about him. I don't want him here."

Hermione paused, nibbling on her lower lip as she weighed her options. She could tell Draco to meet her at home, or she could push the situation further, more than likely only causing Harry to grow cross with her in the process. Finally, she licked her lips and cleared her throat, jutting her chin forward and speaking confidently.

"We're a package deal, Harry—if he goes, so do I."

If it wasn't for the entire shock of the outburst in itself, Hermione would have been mildly surprised that at that moment, Draco leaned forward and grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers.

It felt like home, and she missed it more than anything else.

Harry didn't seem to notice the tiny gesture, though, but he made a small grunt of annoyance anyway, rubbing his face. Ginny was at his side almost immediately, whispering something in his ear. He nodded stiffly once towards Hermione, clearly disgusted by her husband's mere presence. Not wishing to speak further, he turned and stalked away, and Ginny threw Hermione an apologetic grimace before following her fiancé towards the far corner of the tent.

Hermione barely had time to register their absence before Draco twirled her to face him and led her to the dance floor, his face impassive. She struggled to keep up with him, tripping over her heels as he dragged her along. Stepping up onto the large wooden platform designed for dancing, he brought her close and placed both of his hands tightly around her waist, and in return Hermione snaked her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the back of his hair.

"This is nice," She commented, to which he barely let out a hum in agreement. They swayed to the music in silence, the calming sound of a violin filling the area and permitting them to comfortably dance without conversation for a handful of moments.

"Hermione," Draco whispered suddenly, and he tilted his head down to look at her. She lifted her face so that their lips were inches away, her eyes scanning his as her heart thudded in her chest. She could feel the hot stares of everyone around them; the whispers and gossip being spread around the room. She hadn't even noticed that the dance floor was empty, save for her and him.

"Yes, Draco?"

"I'm glad I came tonight."

"But you and Harry—I thought you were—"

"No, no, I don't care about what Potter has to say."

"Then why would you be glad you came?"

He paused, a look of unease settling on his face as he evidently debated as to whether or not he should confess his true intents of going to the party with her in the first place.

"Because I got to be with you."

Astonished by his response and oblivious of the presence of others, Hermione's face flushed a deep rosy red and she leaned on her tip toes, closing the fraction of distance that separated her from Draco and kissing him, not caring that anyone was watching.

And after a moment of internal debating, Draco pulled her tighter against him and returned the affection.


	13. The Agreement

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hey, guys! So, I've been really excited about this chapter. It's not really long or anything—about average length—but it does so much for plot development and stuff that it's important to pay attention, because this chapter is sort of like the crux for the entire fic! I hope you guys enjoy it, and please _please _review once you've finished! My song rec for this chapter is Lithium by Nirvana, merely because Nirvana is my favorite band and my muse—Kurt's voice gives me inspiration when I write. Alright, well thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: The Agreement<strong>

Things had gotten too complicated; he was in too deep and the proximity of it all was suffocating, almost. Suffocating him in a way that made the confused young man delirious and giddy in a lovestruck sort of way. Love, though…was he in love? Surely he'd never fallen out of it. Not really. And although he felt that familiar pull at his heart that indicated he was, once more, falling in love with his wife, he refused to admit it. Not just for his own sake, but for hers as well.

Draco was now being forced to pay for the actions and decisions he had made in his absence. The acquaintances he had made; the plans he had formulated were all crumbling and withering before him as his guilt ate him from the inside out. It was a gnawing pain that left him feeling raw and washed out; it attacked him viciously at night when he was unable to sleep, and so he spent the better portion of his insomnia-driven evenings watching the peaceful rise and fall of his Witch's chest as she slept. No, she wasn't his Witch anymore—he had to remind himself of that.

There were things he had to change; arrangements that were made only to be broken. Because if he didn't back out now, everything he had so craftily built would crumble before his very eyes.

There was no backing out now—he had to visit _him. _He had to visit that vile and loathsome man who had single-handedly aided in the destruction of his marriage; the deterioration of Draco's trust for Hermione.

It was time to visit Theodore Nott.

* * *

><p>The location of Nott's underground business system was in a high-end part of London, but you wouldn't be able to tell with the way it was run. The cold walls pressed close against Draco's shoulders as he stalked down the narrow corridors, shivering at how chilly it was. Having a thriving illegal business set up under the busy streets of London was both a blessing and curse in disguise, and often enough Draco flinched as he heard the roaring of cars passing by above—their wheels rolling against the pavement and their angry horns filling the smoggy air.<p>

Approaching the wooden door at the end of the corridor, Draco knocked once, waiting to be permitted access into Nott's office. Once he was granted entrance, Draco twisted the rusty metal knob and threw it open, stepping inside the spacious but ill-kept office, his grey eyes taking everything in within a matter of seconds. Wrinkling his nose in a state of slight disgust, he shut the door behind him and moved to sit in one of the plush leather chairs opposite Theo's large mahogany desk. The expensive furnishing didn't match the dingy environment, and Draco couldn't help but to think of this with a smug grin on his face.

"What an _interesting _establishment you've made, Nott," Draco snickered, relaxing into the chair. He rested his elbows on the arm rests, lacing his hands together and sneering at the man before him. The War had done many things to the once quiet and passive Theodore Nott, causing him to grow and mold into a being that hardly anyone would recognize these days. Though still lean, he'd grown into his lanky frame and didn't appear so gangly and awkward. His dark hair parted in all the right places, and when he glared down at you, his high cheekbones seemed more defined. He sat in the large chair opposite Draco behind the desk, a pensive look encompassing his pointed features. He regarded Draco with a curious stare, as though he were trying to figure him out, before sighing and leaning forward, grabbing a stack of paperwork from his desk and shoving them together.

"We're in the process of remodeling, Malfoy," Theo responded coolly, jerking open a drawer in his desk and shoving the papers inside before turning to face his ex-classmate once more. "Forgive me for not all of us acquiring the wealth necessary to build a thriving enterprise in one day."

Draco brushed aside the comment about his wealth, knowing it would lead to no good for him to delve further on the subject.

"Well, you should probably deal with this problem soon," Draco stated, shrugging slightly in his discomfort. "Because as it is, this place smells like Weasley took a giant shit in it."

"Ah," Theo managed, his mouth twitching into a forced smile before he composed himself once more. He'd never quite gotten over just how well Draco managed to come out of everything—even in the midst of his misfortune, he still found time to degrade others. "Still as charming as ever, I see. Why is it you're here, exactly, Draco? Looking to purchase a potion from me?"

Draco shook his head stiffly, offended by the idea.

"I'm not interested in your illegal activity," He sneered, his fingers running along the wood finishing of the chair he'd placed himself in. "I have no use for smuggled memory potions or charms."

Theo cocked one brow and picked up the tiny hour glass that lay on his desk. He ran the cool and intricately shaped object in the palm of his hand, watching the speckles of sand fall from one vial to the other.

"That wasn't the attitude you possessed when we made our agreement," Theo drawled, lifting the hour glass up to the light, studying it with a curious expression on his face.

"Yes, I know," Draco began testily, fidgeting in his seat. "That's what I came to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Theo asked, suddenly interested. He set the miniature hour glass back on the table, directing his attention once more to the fair-haired man before him.

"Yes," Draco stated confidently. "I want out of it."

"You want _out _of it?" Theo sputtered incredulously, both of his dark brows shooting skyward. His face portrayed a wide range of emotions—first shock, then anger, and finally, confusion.

"I believe that's what I said, yes," Draco said coolly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

There was a beat of silence as Theo studied Draco, evidently trying to decipher whether or not the man was lying. Finally, after a few moments of inspection, Theo barked out a short burst of dry laughter, leaning back in his chair as his shoulders heaved and shook.

"Nice one, Malfoy. What, do you mean to tell me that you've had a change of heart?" Theo sneered, snorting as he reviewed what he obviously believed to be a ridiculous concept. Yes, Draco caring about someone was _clearly _a laughing matter. When Draco didn't respond, however, and merely glared at the clearly enthused smuggler before him, Theo's laughter died down, and that same look of awe soon overwhelmed his features.

"Wait," Theo spoke slowly, realization dawning on his cruel features. "You _are_, aren't you? You're falling for the Mudblood again!"

"Don't you _dare _fucking call her that!" Draco spat, anger surging inside of him. Really, why was he getting so worked up? He'd promised himself he wouldn't get attached to her again; not after what she'd done. And he was being successful…right? She was just a good shag and a forgotten love…wasn't she?

"I remember a time when that used to be your favorite description of her, _Draco,_" Theo sneered, his mouth twisting into an amused smirk. Draco wanted to smack the expression right off the damn bastard's face, digging his nails into the palms of his hands and creating crescent-shaped groove marks in his supple skin.

"Things have changed," He spat through his teeth.

"Yes, well, I beg to differ," Theo snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Especially given the little arrangement you proposed to me last year."

"You planted the damn idea into my head!" Draco shouted, his voice croaking as he leaned forward in his seat, defending himself.

"Ah, yes, but you allowed it to grow."

Draco muddled the thought over for a moment-_had _he allowed it to grow? Was it his fault that his life was in the fucked-up position it was now? His mind recalled a flicker of a past memory, trying to decipher whether or not he was in the wrong.

_"She left you, Draco," Theo stated sternly, and Draco looked up at him with wide eyes, the thick blanket wrapped around his shivering torso._

_"No, no, she loves me!" Draco protested, his brows furrowing together. "She wouldn't have just left me alone like that. It must have been a mistake-you're just getting it wrong, is all." He was quite confident; quite sure of his wife's adoration for him, that nothing this old school friend would say could persuade him to believe otherwise. And yet, he'd been so thoroughly convincing..._

_"I'm afraid not, Malfoy," Theo recalled sadly, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shaking his head slowly. "She finally got fed up with your ridiculous attitude-you trusted her, and she turned her back on you. She betrayed you, Draco, are you really going to let the little Mudblood of all people get away with that?"_

_The very confused version of Draco's former self merely glanced up at Theo in confusion, his lips tugging into a slight frown._

_"No," Theo answered for him sternly. "You're not."_

Snapping out of the vision, it took every ounce of willpower Draco possessed not to lunge across the desk and throttle the git for getting him sucked into this mess in the first place. If Draco hadn't felt so betrayed and vulnerable when Theo found him, he more than likely wouldn't have agreed to this…this _toxic _plan in the first place.

"I'm not going to let you out of this agreement easily, Draco," Theo said suddenly, his attitude much more relaxed. "I'm the one who found you trekking about Europe dazed and confused—I restored your memories. Now, you have to pay the price."

"If I had known you were going to be so bloody sinister and difficult about the entire damn thing, I never would have accepted your help that day in Scotland in the first place!"

"Is that so, Draco?" Theo asked suddenly, cocking one dark brow and tilting his head slightly to the side. He seemed to be studying Draco for proof of the lie that was clearly written on his face. Finally, he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as though the subject at hand was boring him.

"A deal's a deal, Malfoy," Theo said suddenly, lacing his fingers together and leaning back in his chair, lips pursed. Draco tensed immediately, narrowing his eyes into vicious slits and hissing at the vile man seated before him. "You have the remainder of the six months to convince your _wife _that you're capable of being trusted once more. Once the marriage contract has expired, you'll bring her to me so that I can…hold to my end of the deal."

"And if I refuse?" Draco spat, the anger coursing through his veins causing him to tremble. Theo paused—briefly—to assess his response. A pensive look overwhelmed his cruel features, and for a moment he almost looked human. Almost.

"Then I make sure the same thing that happened to dear Mummy Malfoy last time occurs again," He said simply, shrugging. When he noticed the fear that flickered across Draco's icy grey eyes, he smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And this time, I won't stop."

"You wouldn't," Draco contradicted, a bit too brazen. Theo leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing as he made sure that Draco's attention was fixated on him.

"Try me, Malfoy."

Draco, not wanting to cause further confrontation—mostly because he knew what Nott was capable of these days, what with his underground power and all—stiffly stood from his seat, backing away. He had his hand on the rusty doorknob and was twisting it when Theodore cleared his throat, beckoning that Draco turn to face him one last time.

"The end of the six months, correct, Malfoy?" Theo called out, rummaging in one of his drawers.

There was a long pause as Draco contemplated his answer. Finally, he cleared his throat and managed to nod once.

"Six months."


	14. Her Fondest Memories

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! I know this chapter was longer than most, but I had to make it this way, otherwise everything would seem rushed. And yes, all of the text in italics are Hermione's memories—please note that they aren't _all _of her memories, because that in itself would be another fic entirely. They're merely outlines and highlighted points of things that I found to be important to the plot line, as well as the development of their characters. Needless to say, I cut it short before the memories turned worse, but that's for a reason. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, and let me know what you think! For this chapter, I'll choose to recommend Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy. As always, review and enjoy, and thanks for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: <strong>Her Fondest Memories

_It had been three years prior that Hermione Granger had been forced to give up her maiden name in favor of the once honorable Malfoy surname. She had stood in Minister Shacklebolt's office, tapping her foot impatiently and wearing her best set of robes. Her hair as, as usual, bushy and Malfoy was, as usual, late. She huffed in aggravation and ran her hand along the wood furnishing of the long and expensive-looking cherry wood desk that occupied the spacious and well-lit room deep within the chambers of the Ministry. She rapped her knuckles against the desk, pursing her lips whilst waiting in aggravation for the man who was to be her husband arrived._

_Her __**husband.**__ Why, of all of the vile and loathsome creatures they could have paired her up, why they chose that heartless, albino, cruel git of a man to be the one she'd be forced to marry! She knew that Kingsley had meant well when he suggested she be the one to redeem the Malfoy family, and Hermione acted on a whim of pride—who was she to deny her Minister? And furthermore, how satisfying would it be to spend her time causing Malfoy to squirm at the thought of being married to her—a measley little "Mudblood". But honestly, he was vile! He was—he was despicable! She despised him and everything he stood for; that stupid smirk that was permanently embedded into his far too pale face, and the way he stood tall as if he owned the room, not to mention the way he—_

_The sound of a door being thrown open and slammed shut filled the room, and Hermione flinched, her chocolate brown eyes filling with anger as she spotted a very brooding Draco Malfoy stalk his way over towards the desk, a regal and egotistical air surrounding him and suffocating all who were near._

"_Alright, I'm here, let's sign the paperwork," He stated matter-of-factly, his robes trailing behind him in a flurry of anger. Hermione couldn't help but narrow her eyes, gritting her teeth together and clamping her mouth shut in order to stop herself from making some sort of comment on his atrocious attitude. She found herself unable to stop the bubbling retort lingering on her lips, and she soon opened her mouth to bark out a short burst of dry laughter._

"_How charming! And this is to be my husband?"_

"_Yes, yes, we all know how lucky you are in this deal," Draco snapped, bringing the document that was laid out on the table before them closer. He reached for the quill that one of the Ministry officials held out to him and quickly scanned over the document, more than likely looking for any loopholes. Hah! As if he would find any! Hermione rolled her eyes, but soon found herself at a loss for words as he scrawled his curvy signature at the bottom of the parchment paper. Gulping, Hermione shakily took the paper out of his hands, turning it towards her. So this was it—the moment of truth. Her last few precious moments as a single and thriving woman. From this moment on, she'd be married—married!—to Draco sodding Malfoy. At least until the contract on their marriage ran up. Squeezing the quill tight in her clammy hand, Hermione exhaled a shuddering gasp and slowly signed her name, the act almost painful._

"_I now pronounce you husband and wife," Minister Shacklebolt said with a sigh before gathering up the document and exiting the room silently, the other officials behind him. Wonderful—barely married for a grand total of one minute and she was already left alone with the insufferable git, more than ready to hex him into oblivion._

"_I suspect you've got a flat for us to return to?" She snapped, a bit too aggressively. Oh well, it was just Malfoy, after all._

"_I do," He responded coolly, his mouth itching to twist into a smirk. "I've even got everything set up for you! I laid some newspapers in the corner of the kitchen and even spent my own precious Galleons buying you a food bowl and writing 'Mudblood' on it, just so you'd remember it was yours."_

_Hermione glared at him, her fists trembling with anger. She lunged forward, her chest heaving with anger as she raised her fists, so close to pounding the piss out of him for that comment. Instead, she slowly dropped her hands, attempting to steady her breathing as she glared at the man she was being forced to call her husband._

"_Can we just go?" She spat through clenched teeth, suppressing the urge to smack that ridiculous grin off his face._

"_You're toilet-trained, yes?" Draco commented before snatching her arm and bringing her close, preparing for Disapparation._

"_Oh, piss off, Death Eater!" She managed to snap, her rage simmering under her skin and coursing through her veins._

"_As you wish, __**Mrs. Malfoy**__."_

* * *

><p><em>Two months passed within the blink of an eye, and Hermione was no more closer to achieving civility with her husband than she had been the day he'd dragged them from the Ministry. She'd spent the first night arguing over which one of them would sleep in the bed, claiming she wouldn't even dare to spend a night tossing and turning knowing that someone as vile as <em>_**him **__would be her bedmate. When he made no move to switch to the sofa to sleep, Hermione grumbled and gathered her things, heading to the couch to sleep. After a few weeks of waking up with a stiff neck and sore shoulders, she'd decided that enough was enough. This was, technically, her flat as well, and she wouldn't be kicked out of the comfort of a suitable bed! She'd trekked back into the bedroom and demanded she receive half of the bed; it was her right, after all. After a long and winded argument with Draco, Hermione's logical retorts to all of his bitter comments won, and she soon possessed half of the bed. But she didn't sleep any better—not knowing he was still sleeping in such close proximity to her._

_But then the night of her fight with Ron came. She'd loved Ron for years upon miserable years, and the realization that this marriage with Malfoy was very real had put a strain on their friendship. She knew he still cared, and she cared for him as well; she continued to remind herself that when her marriage contract expired, that they'd be together. But she knew too well that it was foolish of her to think or hope that he would wait for her that long—he deserved someone who could give all of herself to him, she knew that. And so the pair had decided a night out on the town would be nice for both of them, but what should have been an innocent night spent hanging out with her best friend—whom she thought she happened to love, quite unfortunately—turned into an evening of nothing but bickering._

"_I don't bloody want to talk about it, 'Mione," Ron hollered defensively, just outside of the restaurant they were supposed to walk inside of and dine at. It had been a regular of theirs; a small and quaint café where Hermione would order a latte and a bagel, and Ron would order a turkey club and a large iced tea. But he'd seemed unsettled the entire evening, and when Hermione continued to press him on the matter, he eventually exploded._

"_But it matters, Ronald!" She protested, clearly upset that he'd shut himself off from her. She'd liked to think that he was able to tell her anything—evidently not._

"_No, it doesn't," Ron said in a very cool manner; one which reminded her of the way Malfoy talked to her on a daily basis. The connection sent a dull shiver down her spine, and she looked up at the redhead before her with a confused expression on her face._

"_We need to stop kidding ourselves, Hermione," Ron began suddenly, and Hermione felt her heart drop to her stomach. "This is never going to happen between us—it's never going to work out. You're married, whether or not you have any feelings for your pathetic sodding excuse of a husband is irrelevant. I can't wait in the shadows for you anymore; I can't hide and cower behind you—you and Harry are brilliant, and I'm only recognized by association. Harry Potter's stupid friend and Hermione Granger's pathetic boyfriend; that's all I ever was and that's all I'll ever be."_

"_Ronald, that's __**not **__true!" She cried hysterically—oh, he was stark raving mad, no doubt! Ron had been recognized for his achievements before, during and after the War, why did he always feel the need to belittle himself and compare his wit to Hermione's or his responsibility to Harry's? They were different people, that was all!_

_But Ron would hear none of it. He left her alone on that curbside that muggy evening in late August, without so much as a reminder that they'd always be friends, but nothing more. The realization of everything crippled her and gnawed at her insides, and Hermione barely had time to Apparate home before bursting into tears. She was ashamed that Draco would see her in this state, because she'd promised herself she'd never be weak around him for the sake of her own dignity, but she couldn't stop the tears erupting out of her system. She collapsed on the kitchen floor, leaning against the cabinet as her body wracked with sobs. She brought her knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands, trying her hardest to cry silently._

_She thought she'd been nearly successful until she heard the undeniable patter of footsteps across hardwood floor, and soon felt a shadow overwhelm her presence. Trying to blink away the tears that blinded her vision, she bit back the sob bubbling up in her throat and forced herself to lift her gaze up to Malfoy, who was towering above her. She expected him to be smirking at her or for him to make some pathetic comment about how ridiculous his little "Mudblood wife looked in her natural pathetic state"; however, he said none of those things. Instead, he bent down and tugged roughly at her wrist, bringing her to a stand. He looked her sternly in the eyes, licked his lips, and spoke._

"_There's really no use crying over a Blood Traitor, Granger," He said coolly. "They barely know how to dress themselves in the morning; you can't expect them to understand human emotion." Hermione suspected this was some form of comfort that he was trying to convey, and she was shocked. Hadn't he spent the last two months degrading her? Sure, there were moments when his gaze would soften slightly and linger on her, or evenings where he didn't make any remark about her blood whatsoever, but they'd never been kind to one another—not ever._

"_Why are you doing this?" She breathed. "Why are you being so…civil with me? Or as civil as __**you're **__capable of being, anyways."_

_Draco scoffed, but the effort was weak, as though laced with some other suppressed emotion._

"_I just don't want to hear your whining and bitching all evening, is all," He said defensively, jutting his chin forward. His hand was still enclosed around her wrist, and she stared at the man who was supposed to be her husband. They were close—closer than they'd ever been in all the weeks spent together, and the tips of her chest brushed against his as she inhaled deeply. Something overwhelmed her senses, and Hermione found her hazel eyes lingering on his lips; she'd never noticed, before, but they were plump and perfectly curved. They looked soft, and she wanted to touch them, for some reason. Wanted to feel their velvety softness against her own…_

"_I don't need your help, Malfoy, I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," She managed to breathe, her eyes frozen on the curves of his lips._

"_Who said I was helping you?"_

"_I—but you, and back there you were just—" All of her protests came out as mangled garbage as her eyes soon became absorbed in tracing the delicious curves and natural pout of his lips. So close she could brush her mouth against him, and oh, the way his masculine aroma was entering her nostrils was so intoxicating, and Merlin he was confusing, but he…he…what was she saying?_

_It was as though the tension in the room popped as the two suddenly attacked the other. For Hermione, it was a way of overcoming her wretched evening with Ron; for Malfoy, the reasons were unknown. Maybe he was lonely, maybe he had needs. But all thoughts of impropriety and bloodline vanished from her mind as she and Draco suddenly crushed themselves together. Her lips slammed on his, and at once he parted his mouth and shoved his tongue past the barrier of his lips. She found her hands snaking up to intertwine in his pale hair, which was surprisingly soft. She felt his hands grip her waist and draw her close, fisting the fabric of her shirt in his hands. She moaned against his mouth, her tongue fighting with his for dominance as the two succumbed to a passionate and hot open-mouthed kiss._

_She wanted to go on; for them to continue like that. It was sinful and wrong of her to desire such a thing, especially from him, but her body craved it. Just as Hermione was about to press against him further, he pulled away and shoved her off, staggering back. The look that had encompassed his face was ghastly and horrified, and Hermione couldn't help but cringe under his disgusted glare._

"_Look at what you've done to me," He hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits. Rage surged inside of her, mixing with hurt, and she huffed in aggravation at him, stomping her foot. How dare he! How dare he blame her for this!_

"_I haven't done a damn thing, Malfoy," She spat back, her chest heaving with anger. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It was the little things like that which set Hermione on edge and made her want to smash her head into a wall. It was as though he always knew exactly which buttons to push without even trying._

"_You're trying to get under my skin, fucking little Mudblood!" He cried in protest, backing away. She made to follow him, ready to slur obscenities at him for uttering __**that **__word again, but before she had the chance to, he'd gathered his things and stumbled out the front door._

_And that was just the beginning._

* * *

><p><em>The remaining two weeks passed in a dull silence—Hermione couldn't bear to be seen by Draco, given what had…occurred between them, and she doubted he wanted to see her, either. Occasionally they'd brush past each other when walking about their flat, but Draco had made it a newfound ritual of his to stay away from their shared residence—and therefore away from Hermione—for as long and as frequently as possible. As one month rolled into the next, Hermione was slowly losing hope for any type of civility with her husband, and had settled into bed one rainy evening, listening to the patter of the drops against the windows and hearing the crack of thunder that signaled an approaching storm when she heard a crash coming from the sitting room.<em>

_Was someone trying to rob them? She sat upright in bed, her chest fluttering dangerously as she crept out of bed. She hadn't seen Malfoy all day, and she doubted he would've been of much in protecting her use even if she had seen him, so Hermione snatched her wand off the bedside table and crept into the sitting room, clad in nothing more than an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts._

_Upon opening the bedroom door, however, she spotted what appeared to be a very frightened, very anxious Draco Malfoy curled up on the ground, a broken lamp lying next to him. He had his knees brought up close to his chest and his hands were placed tightly over his ears. He hadn't seen her—his eyes were shut and he was rocking slowly back and forth, his teeth chattering in the process. Despite her anger and resentment towards him, her compassionate nature led her to run by his side, bending down and gently taking his hands, removing them from either side of his head._

"_Mal—Draco," She whispered softly, her fingers enclosing around his wrists. "What's wrong?"_

_He jumped, startled, before turning his attention on her. His eyes flew open, and in that brief moment where he hadn't registered back into his cool and demeaning glare that she'd grown so accustomed to becoming victim to, she saw that he was…frightened. Clearly, something terrified him, and without thinking, Hermione shifted her position so that she was kneeling, prying his buckling knees apart in favor of scooting closer to him._

_Merlin, she was going to __**murder **__herself for this._

"_You don't have to act so emotionless all the time, you know," She whispered, resisting the urge to run her finger along his lips. Godric, why did she keep thinking about his lips? He stared at her long and hard for a few moments, a small crease developing in his forehead, as though he was contemplating something._

_Without hesitation, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers again. She wanted to stop and pull away—Merlin, she did—but his lips were so inviting and soft and…and…and what was she saying again? _

_She kissed him back as she had before, and he leaned forward, his body still trembling as he made to push her down gently onto the soft carpet below them. Hermione felt her body tense suddenly and she pulled away, out of breath._

"_Malfoy…" She began slowly. "What are you doing?"_

"_Something I've wanted to do for a long time," He breathed. She shivered at his words; it wasn't as though she'd never imagined what…that would be like, because she had, even in her anger, but they weren't a logical couple. They could never work together! And yet…_

_And yet, she was always so logical. Always doing what propriety and her mind told her was suitable, and never caving into emotions. She didn't love Malfoy, and he didn't love her; they were two people thrown together in a time where the turmoil from the War was still very real, and neither one had anyone else. Not really. With Ron long gone and no one else around, Hermione had grown to feel lonely. Perhaps…perhaps Malfoy could make her feel wanted, even if it was one good shag. Sometimes, she really needed to start listening to her heart and stop listening to her head._

_She began to drag her over-sized shirt up, revealing her bare stomach to his inquisitive gaze. She paused, the shirt just below her breasts, and gave a short and shuddering sigh._

"_What is it?" He inquired, and Hermione was shocked to discover that his tone of voice wasn't harsh or commanding. It was almost…dare she say gentle?_

"_I—I probably won't be good at this," She babbled, her cheeks flushing. "I've never done anything like this before…"_

"_Not even with Weasley?" He sputtered, clearly shocked._

"_No, I—I was wanting to save myself."_

"_And what changed that?"_

_Why the bloody hell did __**he**__ care?_

"_Ronald left," She clipped out, still wounded. Draco was silent for a long moment, and she wondered if she'd scared him out of this. It was possible, she did have the tendency to do things like this and get carried away with herself._

"_Well then," He said quietly, clearing his throat. "Let's just show Weasley what he's missing out on." Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she found herself unable to move. Luckily, Malfoy still seemed to possess proper motor skills, and continued to slither her shirt up her body. He inhaled sharply when her breasts became exposed to him, seeing as how she hadn't been wearing a bra, and soon the shirt was tossed to the side. His grey eyes met her curious brown ones for a moment before he bent down, and began sucking on one of her nipples._

_Oh—oh __**Godric**__, she'd never felt anything like that before. A dulcet moan ripped itself from the back of her throat, and Hermione arched her back, wanting more of him. She must've gone crazy, that was the only logical explanation for this. Her trembling hands grasped his back, and she feverishly began to grip the cotton of his shirt in her hands, soon tearing it from his head. She shivered as he parted his lips and allowed his tongue to flick over her hard nipple, and suddenly she felt warm to her core. The muscle behind her navel began to tug and tingle, and she soon had to rub her thighs together in order to quench the heat that had built there. She let out a whimper of regret as he moved his mouth away from her breast, but soon found that he'd occupied himself with removing his trousers and boxers in the haste for him to fuck her. She remembered the pajama bottoms she'd been wearing and lifted her hips off the rug, looping the bottoms and her knickers under her fingers and tugging down, discarding the offensive material._

_She became very aware that they were skin-on-skin now, and she let out a small whimper of fear—she'd never done anything remotely intimate with a man before, save the times she'd snogged with Viktor and then later on with Ron. Hermione gasped as she felt him press his abdomen against her, and she could __**feel **__him; could feel his warm erection brushing against the outside of her clit. And much to her dismay, the action was so pleasurable that she subconsciously rubbed herself against him. She lifted her hips off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist in an effort to bring him closer, grunting as she did so._

_Without hesitation or warning, he aligned himself and thrust inside of her. The pain was almost excruciating at first, having never engaged in sexual intercourse before, but no sooner had Hermione let out her bloodcurdling screech than the pain faded away, and the pleasure began to overwhelm her. Yes, oh yes, this was __**quite **__nice, and he—he was—ohh, Merlin. She groaned and whimpered over and over again, the sounds tumbling through her lips almost inhumane. She lifted her hips to meet each of his thrusts with her own, their pelvises slapping against one another._

"_So tight, such a tight little cunt," She heard Draco hiss, and although it was crude and something she should have been insulted by, Hermione couldn't help but to feel aroused by his words. Her hands gripped his back and she raked her nails up and down his spine, her body going wild for him. She let out a growl of discontent as he moved out of her, but soon whimpered with delirious joy and want as he bucked back into her again._

"_Faster—faster—Malfoy, more!" She cried, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She'd always envisioned that she'd lose her virginity to Ron, and yet here she lay, being fucked by the Death Eater she'd been forced to marry. And she was __**enjoying **__it. Upon her request, Draco increased his speed, his cock twitching inside of her as the muscles of her cunt conformed to his hot and hard length. With one last cry, Hermione began to tremble, and could feel the edges of her eyes beginning to burn as the first orgasm she'd ever experienced began to overwhelm her senses. Her hands fell from his back and gripped the rug, and she furiously lifted her hips repeatedly because she needed more—more of his cock inside of her, and with one final arch of her back and tumble of his name rolling past her lips, she came hard, her fluids spilling out and coating his cock. Draco, encouraged by this reaction, began to ride her harder, his hands flying to pin her wrists to the ground. He gargled and grumbled in delicious pleasure, and Hermione watched in awe as he let his guard down; how his face contorted with blissful pleasure as his cock twitched and he came hard inside of her. She cried out again in pleasure, feeling a dull sense of regret as his thrusts began to slow. In the aftermath of their lust, neither one of them spoke. _

_They didn't need to. The deed was already done._

* * *

><p><em>Things changed within the Malfoy flat after that—there was no way that the two could avoid the other or pretend as though nothing had happened. Not after sharing something intimate like that.<em>

_Hermione's relationship with Draco began as nothing more than a way for the two of them to bicker all of the time, with the occasional hate-filled shag. There had been the understanding that neither of them would develop feelings for the other, and really, it shouldn't have been too hard—he was Draco sodding Malfoy, after all!_

_But there was a moment she shared as she watched him sleeping after one of their endeavors that she realized he'd transformed. He looked so peaceful when he slept, and Hermione's nose crinkled slightly as she suppressed a laugh at how much she favored Malfoy sleeping to when he was awake. She leaned over and brushed a few fallen strands of white blonde hair out of his face, humming in content as she did so._

_That's when the epiphany that sent her world crashing down hit her: he wasn't Malfoy, the arrogant Death Eater anymore—he was Draco Malfoy, her lover. And she was falling desperately, stupidly, hopelessly in love with him._

_The weeks passed into months, and she and Draco had barely been married half a year when Hermione learned that he had formed some sort of…attachment. Of course, it was only natural that he should, given the intimate actions in which they succumbed to on a daily basis, but it was nice knowing that she meant at least something to him, all the same._

_They'd been seated in the large sitting room of their flat, Draco skimming a book and Hermione fumbling through a large tome of medical information, doing research in an effort to please her bosses. She'd recently been hired at St. Mungos, and was more enthralled than ever in researching different healing spells and illnesses caused by faulty or immature use of magic. She was preparing to read a chapter on the various uses of Dittany—of which she knew all about, but figured it couldn't hurt to brush up on the topic—when she heard what sounded like the dull thud of a book closing, and Draco cleared his throat._

"_Granger," He began suddenly, and she could detect the hint of nervousness lingering in his voice. If it weren't for the apparent anxiety that seemed to inflate within the confines of their flat just then, she would have told him to bugger off while she was studying. As it was, he seemed particularly upset, so she tore her eyes away from the passage she was reading, settling her concerned gaze on him._

"_Yes, Malfoy?"_

"_How do you know if you're in love?"_

_Hermione faltered for a moment, her heart hammering violently against her rib cage as she desperately tried to remain composed. She—he—was he suggesting…?_

"_Well," She began, her voice quavering slightly. "Love isn't something you can define by a passage in a textbook. You can spend hours, months or years researching on the different emotions evoked within a person that causes one to love another. It's chemical—it's an attraction that stretches so far and beyond the limits of physical intimacy. There's all different kinds of love, but to love and be loved in return—I think that's the greatest magic that exists._

"_To be in love is different than any other form of affection I've encountered—it moves you in ways you didn't know possible. It's just…amazing to know that there's someone out there you'd do anything for—"_

"_I'd do anything for my parents, Granger, and clearly I'm not in love with them. The Malfoys may all look alike, Hermione, but we're not Weasleys—incest isn't something we pride ourselves on."_

_Hermione ignored her comment about Ron's family, rolling her eyes as she desperately racked her brains for the right way to phrase what she was attempting to convey._

"_Love," She emphasized, trying her hardest to get back on track. "is a collection of all the recognition of the little things—the characteristics of a person that you wouldn't even recognize if you hadn't subconsciously been paying close attention. Like…like the way his fair hair falls in his face when he's laughing, and the tiniest jerk of his head removes the hair from his eyes…" _

_She was rambling now, talking about the man she was speaking to without even knowing it._

"…_the way he always scoffs when you're speaking and tries to discredit everything you say, but you know that he cares, even if it's the tiniest fraction of him that does. The way his nose scrunches up when he laughs and that stupid way he places his tongue between his lips when he's refraining from making a sarcastic comment…and—and—"_

_As though realizing Draco was in the room, Hermione blinked twice and exhaled in a rush, her cheeks reddening suddenly. She averted her gaze, but could feel the hot intensity of his silver eyes boring into her. She refused to look at him, instead fiddled with her fingers and felt like the biggest fool in the entire sodding universe._

"_You're in love with me," He stated finally, his voice barely rising above a whisper. She blinked a few times, lifting her eyes to meet his._

"_N—no," She stammered, jutting her chin forward. "I'm not."_

"_Yes, you are," He said, a bit humorously. His mouth twisted itself into a crooked little grin, and Hermione winced, waiting for him to ridicule her and mock her emotions. Instead, the smirk on his face vanished suddenly, and he set the book he'd been reading to the side and moved to sit by her on the floor._

"_I don't know much about love," He admitted, and Hermione felt her heart sinking to her stomach. He caught one of her strands of hair in his fingers, and twirled it around his slender finger. "But I'd like for you to be the one to teach me."_

_Her breath hitched in her throat, and she shivered at his touch, her chocolate eyes widening._

"_I can't promise anything," She whispered. "I can't promise I'll be good enough for you."_

"_On the contrary," He murmured, his eyes absorbing her essence. "It's quite the other way around."_

_He caught her mouth in his just then, and all of her worries melted away. For the time being, there was peace._

_For the time being, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were tiptoeing on the lines of lust and love, and teetering dangerously on the brink of crossing over. _

* * *

><p><em>A year passed in silence—beautiful bliss that Hermione wished would have lasted an eternity. With nothing to worry about other than attending work and keeping track of time so that she didn't get lost in the essence that was her husband, Hermione and Draco spent a fleeting twelve months ripping apart the seams that divided them—they transformed from so much more than Death Eater and War Heroine.<em>

_They'd shifted from enemies to conveniences, tumbled their way through the awkward stages of attachment, and had found themselves foolishly and desperately in love with the other. They fought, as many a married couple did, but soon made up for it afterwards—usually ending with both of them in a tangle of limbs at whichever spot was closest to them. Be it the bed, the shower, up against a wall—anywhere and everywhere, it was their territory to explore one another._

_And then one day, Hermione received the news._

"_What do you mean, you don't feel like going out?" Draco spat, viciously tugging at the tie he'd put on only ten minutes ago. Hermione had been acting distant and nervous ever since she'd visited the doctor earlier in the afternoon, and had promptly rejected their plans to head out to their favorite restaurant for dinner. He turned to face her, exasperated, but she merely combed out the knotted kinks in her curly hair, refusing to meet anything other than his reflection in the mirror._

"_Hermione," He said, and his voice was much quieter than before. He walked towards her, snaking his arms around her waist and feeling the material of her favorite peach dress underneath his fingertips. "What's wrong? You've been acting…odd."_

_Hermione leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. She dropped the brush and brought her hands to rest gently on top of Draco's, bringing him closer to her._

"_I went to the doctor today," She muttered, swallowing heavily. Draco nodded slowly, not quite understanding what she was getting at._

"_Yes, you said it was just a routine check-up, so what's the matter? Are you ill?"_

"_Draco, I—"_

"_Well for God's sake, Granger, spit it out already!" He yelled, his voice raising an octave as the state of hysteria began to seep through his pores. He turned her around to face him, and his gaze softened considerably._

"_Please, Hermione, just—tell me…what's wrong?"_

_Her lips quivered slightly, and she felt her eyes pool with tears. Whether they were tears of fear, sorrow, or joy, she didn't know yet._

"_Draco," She whispered. "I'm pregnant."_

* * *

><p>Hermione sat upright in bed, her chest heaving and shuddering as she desperately tried to get a grip on reality. She ran her hands through her mass of frizzy curls, gulping in gasps of air. Her hands trembled, and she closed her eyes for a moment, desperately convincing herself that she had launched herself three years into the future from the memories she'd been succumbing to.<p>

Ever since Draco had left, her mind would often wander and she'd find herself succumbing to the sweet and delicious memories they'd shared. Sometimes she remembered the bad, as well—the moments where their lives had come crashing down around them. But as her mind sifted through the various memories she'd shared with the man she'd ever only truly given herself to, something in her subconscious alerted her to wake before she got to the declination of their state of happiness.

The bad memories—her mind always tried to avoid those.

Recognizing that the sweet memories her mind had traitorously shown her in her weak moments of sleep, Hermione's eyes flickered over to the untouched side of the bed that rightfully belonged to Draco. She trailed her fingers along the silky comforter, and threw the sheets off her frame. She stumbled to her feet, her legs wobbling underneath her. Her teeth were chattering, but she suspected it was from nerves more than anything else. Hermione shuffled across the master bedroom, twisting the knob and fretfully wondering whether or not Draco had skipped out on her again.

Holding her breath, she opened the door slowly and stepped out into the sitting room. She blinked twice, adjusting to the sudden darkness, and exhaling a sigh of relief when she noticed his bulky frame stretched out on the couch. Her brown brows knit together in confusion and concern when she registered that he was sleeping on the sofa rather than in bed next to her. Their relationship was by no ways mended, and yet…he'd slept with her the past few weeks, so why now? Why the change?

Draco had been staying with her for almost three months, and a sobering thought shook her to the core as she realized her time was half done.

Watching her husband sleep restlessly from his position on the couch, she came to grips with the fact that no, he probably wasn't going to stay once the six months were over.

She had betrayed him, and Hermione Granger didn't believe she deserved any redemption for her crimes.

Even though she'd been a victim of the Imperius Curse when she performed them.


	15. Merry Christmas, Draco

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Alright, so this chapter was a bit of a lag for me to write. I'm assuming it's partially because Christmas has recently passed here, and partially because I'm swamped with upcoming exams. So I apologize if it falls short of expectations, but I had to have this filler chapter before I include anymore information concerning Hermione and Draco's past! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and a happy New Year, and thank you all for reading! Enjoy, and please review, PM me if you have any questions . Considering this is a Christmas-oriented chapter, I'll suggest _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas _by Judy Garland.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: <strong>Merry Christmas, Draco

"You're not wearing that out to dinner," Draco drawled from his spot in the kitchen. His legs were resting on the table, his expensive new set of black loafers lying carelessly on the ground next to him. He was wearing his new blue button-down shirt and a black tie to match, and with a scoff he popped a grape in his mouth from the small vine of them he was holding in his hands.

Hermione, who had been inspecting her figure in the mirror, turned around to glare at him half-heartedly, crossing her arms across her chest.

"And why—dare I ask—is that?" She countered, puckering her lips and studying him. He loved when she looked at him like that; it had always been a guilty pleasure of his to become the object of her attention.

"Because I'd hate for that _pretty _material to go to waste once I rip it off you the minute we're back at the flat," Draco replied smugly, wrinkling his nose and popping another grape in his mouth. Hermione glared at him, but the action was half-hearted, and he thought he could see the trace of a smirk threatening to penetrate her wretched attempt at being angry.

"You're vile, you know that?" She said, turning away from him—to hide her smirk, no doubt.

"I prefer charming, dashing, stunning—" He ticked off, swallowing the grape he'd been so thoughtfully chewing on. "All compliments will do, really—I'm not picky on how people address my perfection."

"Honestly, Draco, how do you manage to keep your head up? It must weigh a ton, with the amount of swelling there," She teased, primping her hair in the mirror.

"I could ask the same thing about you and that wild bush you happen to call hair," He retorted, finishing off the grapes and tossing the empty vine on the table.

"There's nothing wrong with my hair!"

"Do you know how terrifying it is having sex with you, thinking there's a wild animal residing on top of your head?"

Her fingers dropped from her hair and she turned to glare at him, her jaw set.

"As I recall, you have the tendency to hold on to my hair a _lot _during those…intimate moments," She finished, blushing at the crude thought. Draco merely shrugged, scoffing.

"Only because I thought I was saving the poor animal trapped on top of your head."

"How charming."

"Ah, see that's the compliment I was looking for."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smoothing out her peach-colored dress. Despite his jesting attitude, the real reason he didn't want her to wear that dress was because it had always been his favorite when they were intimate—it was also the dress she'd worn the night everything went wrong. It reminded him too much of the past, but he didn't have the heart to swallow his pride and tell her so.

Seeing her stand so close to him in the dress that reminded him not only of the night he discovered she was pregnant, but also of that fateful evening his world came crashing down. It made Draco's stomach clench uncomfortably, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, his memories crashing forward and overwhelming his senses.

"_What do you mean there was an accident?" Draco spat, worry igniting in his abdomen. "Mother just got a little carried away, that's all."_

_This couldn't be happening—no, no, Merlin no, he had spent so long building his life. Was it really about to be ripped away from him? Was Hermione about to be torn from him? His mother? The thoughts were enough to deflate any confidence he had that everything would be okay._

"_Your mother isn't receiving the proper treatment she should be for her case," Katie Bell said softly, turning to face Draco. She no longer wore the marks of one who held a grudge for the crimes he had once committed against her—Draco's shifted relationship with his wife was no doubt an additional factor that led her, and many other Wizards and Witches, to accept him as more of a decent human being, rather than an unjustly pardoned Death Eater._

"_She's fine," Draco defended quickly. He rubbed his arms and frantically swayed back and forth, anxiously trying to peek through the tiny slab of window positioned on the door that his wife was supposed to be in—he'd never been in this particular wing of St. Mungos, and felt completely out-of-place. Even Katie, head of the Department of the Fourth Floor, didn't belong here._

"_My wife, how's my wife?" He asked frantically, his blonde brows knitting together. Katie opened her mouth as if to speak, but Draco was distracted by the jiggling of a knob. The door was thrown open, revealing an unfamiliar Wizard clad in a typical Healer outfit, and Draco bolted inside, shoving past him and running to kneel at his wife's bedside._

_She looked so…so broken, and it made Draco ill. He fought against the urge to vomit, instead raising a hand to brush aside the matted curls that hung limp in front of Hermione's eyes. Her face was swollen and bruised, and at his touch her eyes fluttered open, and she slowly turned to face him. The pair stared at another in silence for several moments, and Draco dared not tear his eyes away from her face, afraid of what he'd find._

_Hermione's eyes began to fill with tears, and her mouth quivered before she finally broke out into heart-wrenching sobs. Her voice cracked as she cried, and Draco moved to lay next to his wife in her hospital bed, bringing her close._

"_They—they couldn't save him," She choked out, her sobs now strangled and muffled as she buried her face in his chest. He held her close, not daring to ask who she was referring to. He already knew._

"_They said th—that they tried all they could, but the accident was too much, Draco," She sobbed, her body shuddering. Draco blinked back the tears that were beginning to fill his own eyes, his throat aching as he fought back emotion._

"_Mother didn't mean to attack you, Hermione," He whispered shakily, petting her hair. He needed to make sure she knew that Narcissa wasn't in her right state of mind; she'd thought it was the War, that was all. She didn't really think that Hermione was trying to kill her. If his mother had been consciously aware of where she'd been, then maybe…maybe she wouldn't have shrieked and used her wand in defense. Maybe she wouldn't have thrown that curse at Hermione._

"_I had everything picked out, Draco," Hermione wailed, and he could feel her hot tears staining his dress shirt. "Scorpius was going to be our pride and joy, and I—I had the crib, and the—and the clothes, and…oh God, Draco, why did this have to happen to us?"_

_He listened to her tales of woe, mimicking her heart-broken and dejected state silently._

_There weren't many things that rivaled or tested the stability of a relationship than losing a child. As much as he loved Hermione and his mother, he knew he was going to have to make a choice._

_He wouldn't let the officials take his mother away from him, not when she had been through so much—he was just going to hide her away. She'd be safe that way._

"I _said_," Hermione began testily, snapping Draco out of his thoughts. "Are you ready to go celebrate Christmas dinner?"

Draco blinked twice, trying to wipe away the slight frown his lips had tugged themselves into. Nodding slowly, he moved his legs off the table and slipped into his shoes, licking his lips and avoiding her gaze. He couldn't look at her—not yet. The tears stung his eyes, and he cursed himself for succumbing to vulnerability; images of that night haunted him all the time, but he usually had the decency to allow the guilt to wash over him in private. Sighing, he finally stood, snatching his jacket off the hook and slinging it on. When he felt that he had composed himself, he turned to face his wife, holding out his hand.

"Yes, I'm ready."

* * *

><p>Draco hated Christmas—the celebration of it, the exaggeration of the holiday. Everything. While his holidays at the Manor as a child had always been extravagant and lush as far as the quantity and expenses of the gifts were concerned, the "jolly" holiday was otherwise dull and devoid of any real emotion. Oh, sure, his mother had always tried to make Christmas a cheerful holiday for him, but living with a father as strict as Lucius, Draco often times was forced to behave "like a proper Pureblood boy" on Christmas Day.<p>

After his father's imprisonment back at the end of Draco's fifth year, he hadn't really felt any desire to celebrate Christmas ever again, and had steadily put the holiday off, shoving it in the crevices of his mind.

But then Granger came along. Hermione Granger, who loved the holiday season and everything associated with it. The presents, feasts, spending time with family—she thrived on that shit. Practically lapped it up like a thirsty dog, with all of the excitement she placed on it. He didn't understand what she always got so worked up about; it was just one of many days in the year. One in which men hurried to find suitable pieces of jewelry to give their girlfriends or wives—occasionally both, for the men who had some sort of superior complex concerning how many women were allowed to treasure their cocks—and women spent time fussing over just what they'd get their man, their friends, and just about anybody and everybody they'd ever fucking met.

Alright, so maybe he was being a bit stereotypical, but still. The holiday wasn't anything to rejoice about for him, and he just couldn't find the glee in it like Granger did.

And yet here they were, seated in a small and dimly-lit Italian restaurant, perusing over a couple of menus and celebrating Christmas. Draco had gotten Hermione to agree on Italian for dinner rather than the local pub that was serving their ridiculous "Christmas Special"—at least now he could pretend the blasted holiday didn't exist; it was almost like the pair were out on a date. Almost.

"I just don't see why you're always so down on the holidays, Draco," Hermione said with a sigh, setting her menu down in favor of picking up the flute of champagne before her and taking a sip. He forced his gaze to remain on the menu in front of him, but the ink of the paper blurred and muddled together the harder he tried not to let his silver eyes linger on the delicious curves of his wife's body in that dress.

"I don't see why you always act like you're being injected with fucking cheer," Draco spat back as a retort, irritated that she wouldn't let the subject drop. Hermione heaved an aggravated sigh, and the pair passed several more moments in silence. They'd long since ordered their meals—two plates of pasta alfredo, but Draco found comfort in allowing his eyes to rest on the menu before him. Anything that wouldn't keep him too focused on Hermione. His little dispute with Theo about ending their previous agreement—which was a failure in itself, most unfortunately—had left him feeling a queer sense of guilt, and so he figured the less he kept his attention on Hermione, the better.

"Oh, let's not start!" She said in exasperation, rolling her eyes as the waiter approached with two steaming plates of noodles. Upon seeing the food, Draco's stomach growled, and he realized just how hungry he was for the first time all evening. Clutching the fork he'd been provided with in his hand, he twirled the pasta around the eating utensil, bringing it to his lips and blowing on the portion slightly as swirling wisps of steam rose from the noodles.

He took a bite, and the creamy sauce that coated the noodles was delicious and quite satisfying. A small hum of content escaped his lips and he chewed thoroughly, swallowing and licking his lips. He looked over and saw Hermione giggling as she stabbed a piece of pasta.

"What?" He asked, instantly suspicious. His grey eyes narrowed into slits of their own accord, and he managed to half-scowl at the giggling Witch next to him.

"You just looked like you were about to make love to your plate, is all," She said between giggles, unable to force away the pleased smile that occupied her lips. Draco merely rolled his eyes, smirking slightly as he forked up another mouthful of food. Damn Witch still found near everything amusing.

"You of all people know what I look like when I'm making love," He teased, studying a particularly interesting forkful of pasta before greedily inhaling it. A small scoff of disapproval was the response he received from Hermione, and Draco snickered to himself in silent victory.

"Yes," She began suddenly, and Draco paused to look at her, his brows arching slightly in shock that she was even deigning to answer such a crude comment in public. "Your scrunch your face up and grunt and clench your jaw."

"Oh?" He countered, temporarily setting down his fork and leaning closer to her. "Well, I recall—quite vividly—that look of shock and pure bliss that flickers across your face when I penetrate you; like you were surprised I was able to fit myself inside of you."

Hermione's jaw hung ajar in shock and she turned to face him, wide-eyed and clearly astonished that he'd said something so vulgar in public.

"Yes!" Draco exclaimed, leaning back over his plate of food. "Just like that!"

"Why, you crude and vulgar little…" Hermione mumbled under her breath, angrily stabbing her pasta with her fork while Draco attempted to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up in his throat.

After that little episode, Hermione and Draco continued most of their meal in silence, only pausing every now and again to fill the silence once it began to stretch and grow awkward. It was nice, though, eating in silence—no pretenses or walls were set up before them, and the pair of former lovers were able to converse in a way that was disturbingly familiar to Draco. It was the banter they engaged in; the light-hearted teasing and rants about topics that only the other would understand that reminded him of the bliss they'd shared in the happy days of their marriage. His heart twisted painfully upon recognizing that things couldn't stay like this for much longer—this…this _thing, _whatever it was that had been built between them, was bound to erupt sooner or later, and Draco would be forced to flee the delicious pleasure of Hermione's company once more.

Draco was interrupted from his melancholy thoughts by the sound of Hermione's soft voice as she conversed with the waiter—she appeared to be signing their bill, thanking him for the lovely dinner and telling him she hoped he had a wonderful holiday and a prosperous New Year. Draco rolled his eyes at how fucking merry she was about the damn day, but only slightly—there was no need causing an unnecessary fight. He didn't have the heart for it tonight.

Upon exiting the restaurant, Hermione walking close to him so that her shoulder continually brushed against his arm, and the two strolled down the nearly deserted streets of London. Everybody else was more than likely preparing for bed after such a busy day of celebrating, being jolly and all the other shit that went along with Christmas, and Draco stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, sighing softly. The winter air was cold and crisp, and ruffled his platinum blonde hair slightly as they rounded a corner. Hermione gave a small gasp of delight as the large Christmas tree that stood in the middle of the town square loomed into view—it twinkled brilliantly, lighting up every crevice and banishing all shadows from the spot. Bright ornaments hung delicately from nearly every branch of the dark green tree, and there was something about the dazzling display that drew him nearer.

As the snow fell in soft and fat flakes around them, Draco shuffled closer to the large tree, a small ache throbbing in the back of his throat. It was glorious and magnificent—it was just a damn tree, and yet…and yet it was so much more. His grey eyes absorbed the elegant display, and soon he felt his wife's presence next to him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She whispered, and the inflection in her tone relieved Draco—it told him that he wasn't the only one in awe at this marvelous piece of work. Hermione saw the beauty in it that he did, as well. He managed a slight nod, and soon felt Hermione's petite hand cup his own. She laced their fingers together and leaned against him, her head resting on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, Draco," She whispered, her thumb stroking his knuckle. He knew she didn't expect him to say it back—Draco had never so much as acknowledged the holiday in the past. And yet, as the two of them stared up at the exquisite display, hand-in-hand as the snow fell around them, Draco's lips tugged into something slightly resembling a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."


	16. Obliviate

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hey guys! So, I really had inspiration to write this chapter, because I've been waiting to write it for a long time. I figured it was time I give you the rest of Hermione's story, so please, read, comment and enjoy! My song rec for this chapter is "Best of You" by the Foo Fighters. Thanks for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: <strong>Obliviate

_Losing a child is never easy—it possesses the ability to ruin your life. It deteriorates your sanity and causes one to wither away until there's nothing left but a shell of what once was. Hermione had known that Narcissa never meant to intentionally harm her, but the sting and undeniable agony of it all didn't help her situation. _

_It had been a simple dinner, really, at Draco and Hermione's favorite restaurant. If it hadn't been for the couple at the table next to them shouting and cheering and popping bottles of champagne, Hermione firmly believed that the glassy hue that frequently inhabited Narcissa's otherwise vacant stare wouldn't have overwhelmed her in that moment. Draco was unwilling to admit it—he had been for quite a while now. The War had caused his mother to lose every ounce of sanity in her being, and just hearing the screams mixed with the blasted noises that sounded so much like curses being thrown from the tips of wands sent her into a frenzy._

_Hermione supposed she couldn't really blame her mother-in-law for defending herself; for whipping out her wand and uttering a foreign curse that sounded as though it was deeply rooted in the traces of Parseltongue. Impossible, of course; neither Draco nor his family spoke the language of the snake, and yet…it sounded so sinister. So much like the way the Dark Lord had used to speak to his snake. Hermione didn't even have time to register the beam of light shooting towards her until it had struck her chest, and everything else had faded to black._

* * *

><p><em>The Healers made sure that she knew that they'd done all they could, and that she and Draco just needed to accept what had happened. If Hermione was having a difficult time, Draco was practically breaking right in front of her very eyes. The things he threw around the hospital room; the way he screamed at Healers and hexed anyone who tried to touch her—it was as though he was afraid that if he left her alone, even for a moment, he'd lose her, as well. He was going to be such a good father—he'd taken care of her and made preparations for the child long before any man she'd known would have. The nursery now stood cold and empty; neither husband nor wife had been able to enter it and clean out the fresh supply of toys and care for a child. The emerald green crib that Draco had bought was standing, collecting dust amidst the pastel painted walls that both he and Hermione had painted together one joyous afternoon.<em>

_Hermione knew that something had to be done about Narcissa, but no matter how many times she brought it up with Draco, he'd yell at her and turn her down. The incident had caused them to grow detached from each other, and Hermione spent many a night sitting up and praying to whoever was listening to save her from the dark abyss her life had become. One particular evening she'd stayed up, staring at the silver moon hanging in the sky; it cast a milky hue over London, and Hermione felt herself subconsciously rubbing her once more flat stomach in vain. She'd liked the way it had felt before—the small bump on her stomach that held life; so smooth, and if she placed her hand on her lower abdomen long enough, she could feel the child shifting inside of her. Once more, the bitter tears filled her eyes and overflowed, coating her already tear-stained cheeks as her face contorted into silent grief. She didn't like crying in front of Draco—she didn't like making him feel worse about the entire thing; he already blamed himself enough as it was. She turned to face her husband, running a hand through his hair as he fretfully slept by her side._

_No matter what people said about Draco, she knew that he wasn't the sinister and heartless man that so many believed him to be. Over the course of their marriage, she'd learned something wonderful about the human being that was Draco Malfoy—that as undeserving as he thought he was, he deserved redemption more than anyone she knew._

* * *

><p><em>Days passed into weeks, and Draco had once more folded himself into the carefully crafted shell he'd once kept so closed off from her. She suspected that it was because of the guilt that was undoubtedly gnawing him inside out, and so Hermione decided that she needed a bit of fresh air. She had no place to go; Ginny would try to offer comfort that Hermione didn't need, Harry surely didn't know how to handle things, and Ron was still very much detached from the entire situation. So Hermione found it best to head to The Three Broomsticks—at least there she could drown her sorrows and suppressed emotions in a wonderful bottle of liquor. She'd seated herself at the far end of the bar, isolating herself from all the other Wizards and Witches.<em>

_No one dared talk to her—at least not at first. She'd managed to drink a few glasses of Firewhiskey, and was feeling very much under the influence of the warm liquid when she heard someone summoning her. Blinking twice, she turned and faced a man she remembered—one who had once been well-acquainted with her husband. His face was much hollower than it had been during their stay at Hogwarts; his build was still lean, but somehow much more powerful than it had been during their school days._

"_Theodore Nott," She slurred, swaying slightly as the alcohol numbed her senses. "What are you doing here?"_

_He stared at her for a few moments, and in her intoxicated state Hermione felt him lean closer to her, as though he were inspecting and studying her. Draco and Theo had used to spend quite a bit of time together, but after Hermione and Draco had become more…serious about their marriage, most of his friends had slithered away, disapproving of his life choices, evidently. Theodore Nott was but one of many._

"_Hermione," He drawled in response, and Hermione could have sworn that he cocked one dark brow. "I think we should have a little talk."_

_Hermione was baffled—talk? What on Earth did he want to talk to her about? She was about to inquire when he roughly grabbed her hand and dragged her away from her half-full cup of liquor. She whimpered, twisting roughly in his grasp, but her senses had dulled too much for her attempts at escape to be effective. He dragged her down a narrow corridor in the pub, snatching his wand from his pocket and locking the door. He pressed her against the wall, the tip of his wand digging into her temple. Hermione whimpered, thrashing in his grip, but it was useless._

"_Word has it the Malfoy family is suffering," He spat cruelly, and though Hermione was drunk, she jerked her head back and spit in his face._

"_Leave my family alone," Hermione said in a low voice, her voice trembling as the alcohol heightened her senses. He wiped her spittle off his face, growling and digging his wand further into her forehead._

"_Your lot wasn't so kind to mine after the War," He hissed, his lips curling back to reveal a set of brilliant white teeth. "Though I myself wasn't a Death Eater—much unlike your wrongly pardoned husband—my family's affiliation with Voldemort caused me to lose my inheritance—everything was taken away from us. I've had to resort to other means of earning my wealth, and although I'm coming along rather nicely, I've recently discovered there's a gold mine of profit I can make from selling some of the Wizarding World's most treasured items."_

_Hermione blinked, confused. Her brown brows knit together of their own accord, and she was about to ask him to explain further before he shushed her, clamping his hand over her mouth._

"_Your memories are precious, Hermione," He explained. "The entire Trio's, in fact—do you know how much someone would pay to get their hands on just one vial of a member of the Golden Trio's memories? Potter's are worth the most, of course, but you come in a close second…and I do plan to get what I want, Hermione."_

_Hermione was appalled and fearful, even in her barely conscious state. She kicked his shin, but he made no move to release her. She growled against him, biting his fingers, which at least caused him to snap his hand away from her mouth._

"_I'm not going to give you anything!" She shrieked, her body trembling. Theo merely looked at her, blinking twice as though he'd never considered her voicing her opinion on the subject. "Neither I nor Draco would condone such illegal behavior, and I'm going to report this to the Minister as soon as I—"_

"_Ah yes, there is the problem of Malfoy, isn't there?" Theo mused, and Hermione could have sworn she saw the hints of a cruel smile threatening to twitch itself onto his gaunt face. "No worries, I have a plan to take care of him."_

_Hermione prepared herself to inquire further, but Theo shushed her by slamming his hand against her lips once more._

"_I want your memories, Hermione, and I'm going to get them, one way or the other."_

_The dark look that encompassed his brown eyes caused Hermione to shake her head fervently, fearing the man's actions. He pressed his wand deep into her temple, leaned forward and hissed the one word that changed her life forever._

"_Imperio."_

* * *

><p><em>Being under the Imperius Curse was something that Hermione Granger—Hermione <em>_**Malfoy**__—couldn't rightfully explain, even if she tried. It was as though she were aware of her actions, but only barely. As though she was witnessing everything happen as an outside observer, but unable to stop anything. Her mind, body and speech were literally controlled by another—by the cruel wand of that of Theodore Nott. She had become his victim, and was now being forced to succumb to the wretched plan he'd devised, no matter how hard she tried to restrain against what he had commanded of her._

"_I thought things were going wonderful with you and your husband, Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley said, a bit baffled. He held a small stack of papers in his hands, hesitant to hand them to her. "Are you sure you want to file these charges against him and his mother?"_

_No, no, I don't want to file anything! Her mind cried desperately, and she fought against the strength of the Imperius, the truth residing on the tip of her tongue. So close, if she could just…_

"_Yes, I do," She said calmly, taking the papers from the Minister of Magic. She grabbed the quill that was lying on his desk, quickly scrawling her name on all the indicated lines. No, this couldn't be happening! She didn't want to report her husband and Mother-in-Law to the Ministry! She didn't want them to go to Azkaban!_

"_Well, alright Hermione," Kingsley said with a weary sigh, gently taking the papers from her hand and examining them quickly. "I'll take these down to the lower level to be inspected, and there will be a small group of officials over later this week to collect your husband and his mother and deport them to Azkaban until further questioning."_

_Hermione wanted to cry out—to reach across the desk and rip the paper to shreds. Her limbs ached with the desire to slam her fists against the desk in aggravation, but it was as though she was rooted to the spot. She nodded once, a small smile playing on her lips before turning curtly and heading back out the door._

"_Have a wonderful evening, Minister."_

* * *

><p><em>Hermione was running out of options, that much she was quite aware of. She hadn't seen any trace of Theodore Nott since that fateful evening when she'd condemned her husband and his mother, and she knew that if she were to tell Draco about it, he would do something foolish. She had to protect him; some way, somehow. It was the least she could do after betraying him.<em>

_Draco could tell that something was bothering Hermione, but she supposed he was avoiding it due to the fact that the death of their unborn child still hung in the air like a noose, waiting for them to strangle themselves with the aftermath of what had transpired. Draco had decided to take Hermione out for what she supposed was his final attempt at reconciliation—a trip to a local dinner theater, and so Hermione had slipped into her best dress for the occasion. The dinner was cold, the play meaningless to her, and the entire time Hermione sat at dinner with Draco she fiddled with her hands in her lap, trying to think of the best way to save her husband from certain doom._

_Draco, finally growing agitated with her queer behavior, pulled her out of the restaurant and demanded she tell him what was the matter. Rather than voice her concerns right then and there, she Apparated them back to the comfort of their flat, not even bothering to turn on the light. She was going to have to lie to him—even just a bit, just to save him. She would tell him the gist of it all without giving away that she'd succumbed to the Imperius Curse. The less he knew, the better._

_"Draco," Hermione murmured, her back to him as she leant over the kitchen counter. "They came and took me today. They brought me to them and told me."_

_"And what, exactly, did they tell you?" He asked quietly, his voice taut with suppressed emotion. He stepped forward, his hands trailing along her bare arms._

_"They told me that you did it. That you did this to us. That it's your fault. They asked me if I wanted to press charges."_

_Draco staggered backwards as though he'd been slapped. His heart hammered violently against his chest, and his hands grew clammy. He stared at his Witch incredulously, trying to deny what she was sure he knew would be her inevitable response. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but was cut off by her violent, shuddering sobs._

_"I said yes."_

_It was as though the tension that had slowly been building between them burst forth. Draco cried and screamed, wondering what the hell it was he'd ever done to cause her to do such a thing, and when Hermione cried and swore it was a moment of weakness, Draco told her to stay the fuck away from him and soon stormed out of their flat, slamming the door shut behind him. Hermione succumbed to her grief then, collapsing on the floor and erupting into a series of inhumane sobs, her shoulders heaving inward as her regret evacuated itself from her system._

_By the time Draco returned, he'd grown eerily quiet. He wouldn't look at her—wouldn't speak to her. She knew he felt betrayed, and Hermione wished with all of her might that she could explain everything to her husband. But she couldn't—she knew how impulsive he was, and telling him would do nothing but place him into an even deeper sort of trouble._

* * *

><p><em>When at last Hermione summoned enough of that Gryffindor courage she was born with to speak to her husband, it was to suggest that they hide Narcissa. Draco begrudgingly consented, and she was surprised that he even deigned to go with her. They arrived at Malfoy Manor at dusk, creeping inside of the house and locating Draco's dear mother huddled in the corner of the kitchen, her wand at the ready as her frantic grey eyes searched the dark room. Hermione's heart wrenched for the poor Witch in that moment, and she knew that she'd never have it in her to hate this woman, whether or not she was the cause for the loss of her child.<em>

"_Mother," Draco had whispered, kneeling next to Narcissa and taking her hand in his own. "We've got to go—I have somewhere safe I can take you."_

_Narcissa, in her delirious state, merely nodded, quite certain that her child was taking the pair of them to a safe house to escape the onslaught of a War that had long since passed. Hermione had explained to Draco that there was a small, private residence that they could take her to and file under a different last name, claiming that the Wizengamot wouldn't even bother to check __**Muggle **__insane asylums. And it wasn't an asylum, not really—at least not as she'd always imagined they were. It was more like a nursing home, really, and though Narcissa was a bit more…unstable than the rest, she was sure it was nothing that the doctors couldn't handle, not as long as Hermione made sure to stash Narcissa's wand away._

_It was as they stepped through the revolving doors and admitted Narcissa to the hospital—for Hermione had called beforehand and granted the woman a room and admittance—that she realized what she had to do next. One act of saving her family was in the process of being completed; the next would break her heart. As Draco calmed his confused mother and played along with her insane charades about the various time periods her mind often got stuck in, Hermione stood by the door, fiddling with her coat and pretending they didn't exist. She didn't want to intrude on this final mother and son moment—she didn't know if they'd ever experience again, and that caused her heart to ache more than she could bear._

_It wasn't until they'd finally departed the hospital and were in the process of walking to the nearest Apparation point—one that was safe from the prying eyes of Muggles lurking about—when Hermione decided she could hold back no longer. If she didn't do it now, she'd never do it._

_Thinking quickly, she pulled Draco into a nearby alley. He stared at her with confusion and disgust plastered on his face—yes, he was still quite upset with her. Hermione's lips trembled as she took in the essence that was Draco Malfoy—everything from the slope of his nose to the shade of his alabaster skin. The way his pale lips curved upwards slightly; the perfect Cupid's Bow that resided on his mouth. The lean outline of his frame and his regal air—he was beautiful, in the most masculine of ways. She leaned forward and slammed her quivering mouth on his one last time, tears trickling down her face. As she backed away, she noticed the bemused expression on Draco's face deepen, and she wished with all her heart that she was able to comfort him. As it was, she couldn't even comfort herself._

"_I love you," She managed to whisper, silently sobbing as she raised her wand. Draco's blonde brows knit together, and he parted his lips as if to speak—but he was too late. Realization was just barely beginning to dawn on his face when Hermione uttered the spell that she'd learn to regret for the rest of her life._

"_Obliviate."_

* * *

><p><em>It was easier to deal with a man who hadn't the faintest idea of who he was, let alone the fact that the mysterious woman whom he kept inquiring the name of was his lover. His wife. She was able to lead Draco to the train station without so much as answering his thousands of inquiries. She'd skillfully packed enough clothes and money for him to get through quite a while on his own, and as she stood at the train station, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive so that she could say her goodbyes and Apparate home to grieve in solitude, Draco tapped her on the shoulder.<em>

"_This is probably crazy, but—you said I was hit by a car?" He asked, weariness etched into the fine features of her face. Hermione managed to nod stiffly, focusing on the wall in front of her. She couldn't look at him, she didn't want to know what she'd see there._

"_And what's my name?"_

_Hermione clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, thinking quickly for something to tell him._

"_William Clevins," She made up quickly, spotting the train as it came blazing into view. Draco seemed to roll that name around in his mind, evidently trying to memorize it and decide whether or not it was suitable. Hermione nibbled on her lower lip, her eyes growing wide as the train squealed to a stop in front of them, the doors opening to reveal several bare compartments. It was time._

"_Wait!" Draco cried, turning to face her. He had one foot on the step of the train, and he begged her to look at him. When she finally did, she heaved a shaky sigh, the vulnerability on her husband's face almost more than she could bear. "Aren't you coming with me?"_

_Hermione stared at him in silence for a few moments before forcing a small smile in his direction, slowly shaking her head._

"_Not this time, dear," She whispered, and he slowly began to make his way onto the train. She followed the silhouette of his figure closely, and she saw his grey eyes meet her hazel ones from the window of the train. Slowly, he lifted his hand and waved at her, an uncertain smile stretching across his face. She smiled and waved in return, her heart breaking at the sight of him._

"_Not anymore, Draco."_

* * *

><p><em>Hermione tried to stall the officials from searching for Draco—to be honest, she had no idea of his whereabouts. She gave Kingsley, in front of a group of several other officials, a statement claiming the loss of her child had caused her to suffer a temporary bout of insanity, and she withdrew her charges against both her husband and her mother-in-law. But it was of no real use to them, anyways—both Draco and Narcissa had mysteriously disappeared, and would have become the Wizarding World's top wanted magical beings if it weren't for Hermione urging Kingsley to hush the matter down.<em>

_Everyone consoled her and offered her their most sincere regrets, claiming they'd known all along what a cad Draco was, and that his parents were no less shady than he was. Many claimed that she'd find happiness without him rather than with him, but none of them understood. Even Ginny, whom had been Hermione's only confidante during the entire sordid affair, couldn't seem to comfort her bushy-haired friend. Hermione was, for lack of a better way to phrase it, alone. _

_Weeks passed into months—months into a year. Hermione suffered in bitter silence, with not so much as any more communication from the wretched man who had ruined her life and her marriage; nothing to pass the time but her guilty thoughts. She still visited Narcissa when she could, always making excuses for her husband's absence. She even made sure to make a trip or two to Azkaban, begging Lucius Malfoy for help, should his son ever return. And after several hours of blackmail and persuasion, he'd finally consented, and Hermione knew she was that much closer to living as close to a peaceful life as possible. But then __**he **__showed up again, that beautiful and twisted afternoon, and Hermione thought her entire world was crashing down._

_He was just as beautiful as she'd remembered him, and Hermione knew that, for the rest of her days, she would always be able to vividly recall that afternoon in St. Mungos when Katie Bell murmured that they'd found her husband._

_Found, only to be lost once more. _

* * *

><p>Hermione's eyes flickered open and she shuddered from her position on the bed. Sitting upright, she panted for breath and clutched at her chest, nervous shudders erupting down her spine. She'd assumed that, after her previous round of experiencing the delicious and happy moments of her relationship with Draco, that it was only a matter of time before the worst memories filled her subconscious as she slept. The vivid reenactment of it all was enough to make her teeth chatter, and Hermione's brown eyes instantly flickered over to Draco's side of the bed.<p>

He was sleeping peacefully, his mouth slightly ajar as he succumbed to whatever dreams it was he was experiencing. Subconsciously, one of Hermione's hands flew to her stomach, and she tenderly rubbed the area, once more feeling a sense of longing as she realized, for the thousandeth time, that the baby bump was no longer there. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as she used her free hand to brush Draco's hair from his face, a faint smile on her lips.

She loved her husband, but she didn't deserve him.


	17. Sloppy Confessions

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! I feel really bad for not updating in a while, but I've had some personal issues going on, and wanted to make sure my heart was in this chapter so that it didn't end up failing all over the place. My song rec for this chapter is "Zombie" by _The Pretty Reckless._ Have I mentioned how much I love Taylor Momsen? She's like my Queen. Well anyways, as always, thank you for reading, and comment/enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: <strong>Sloppy Confessions

There was something different about her, he was almost positive of it. Draco spent countless hours musing over what this difference could possibly arise from—was it her hair? No, that tangled mass was still as bushy as it had always been. Perhaps the way she was dressing? That couldn't be it, either—she was still the same Hermione who dressed conservatively ninety percent of the time they were together. Was it the amount of sexual activities they'd engaged in lately? No, that most definitely wasn't it—they made sure to keep sex separate from…feelings. They'd fuck and then he'd move to lie either on the couch or the opposite side of the bed, avoiding further contact with her.

But sometimes, when he slept, he felt her hands brush against his forehead, or her hot breath stirring on his skin, and it was comforting. He dreamt often of her these days—that unguarded time frame in which he wasn't able to build his defenses and block her from his mind. She was always there, lurking in the recesses of his mind, no matter how often he attempted to push her from his thoughts. And so it was as he sat watching her with a book propped in his lap as she went over a packet of papers which he assumed was related to work that he began to recognize where the change he'd spent so long trying to pin down rose from.

It wasn't Hermione that had changed. It was him.

He flipped a page in the novel he'd taken to reading, only half-skimming the contents of the page. His silver irises continued to lift and study her, always fearful that she would catch him watching her. She never did, though—Hermione had always been one to completely grow engrossed in her work. He nibbled on his lower lip, a trait he'd picked up from her, as her brown brows furrowed together and her lips tugged into a slight pout. She let out a soft and delicious sigh that sent a shudder down his spine, licking her lips and flipping a page in the packet she was reading. Studying her closely like this sent Draco's walls crashing down, and his lips parted slightly as he studied her.

It was in this moment, as he absorbed her essence in the most unguarded of fashions since his arrival a handful of months ago that he finally admitted to himself that he couldn't make her prey to Theodore Nott—he'd find some way to save her from that fate, but he couldn't allow her to be taken in like that. Betrayal or not, she didn't deserve it.

"What are you doing?" He found himself calling out, casting his book to the side and attempting to forget his troubles. Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice, blinking in confusion and slowly raising her head.

"Nothing," She responded, shutting whatever packet she was reading. She stared at the text in front of her for a few moments with a slight frown on her lips, her brows furrowed together as though she was inspecting something. Growing curious, Draco heaved himself off the couch, padding across the soft carpeted ground to the kitchen where Hermione was.

"It certainly doesn't _appear _to be nothing," He said in protest, leaning over to take the papers off her desk. She snatched them out of his grip, moving to stand. She'd seemed dazed and confused only moments prior, but the slight tug of her lips and the crease in her forehead warned Draco that whatever emotions she'd been experiencing prior had melted away and been replaced with anger.

"I said it was nothing!" She shrieked, her sudden anger over his harmless inquiry so completely unlike her that Draco recoiled in shock. He blinked a few times, tilting his head to the side slightly and narrowing his eyes. Merlin, what the hell had gotten into her?

"What the fuck is your problem?" He spat, baring his teeth. Fine, if she was going to be a hormonal bitch, then he'd appease her by being an arse. "Did you forget to take your bitch pills today?"

"No," Hermione growled, waving the papers in his face before slamming them back down on the table. "I just don't _appreciate _you going through my things, is all! It's none of your business!"

"None of my business? I'm your fucking _husband._"

He knew as soon as the words had passed his lips that something unsaid hung in the air between them. They hadn't spent much time discussing their marriage and what awaited them in the future—he was leaving, as he'd told her several times. Hermione halted, completely frozen, as if his words had sent an icy chill over her body and paralyzed her. Her brown eyes grew dark with some unidentifiable emotion, her lips pressed together in a thin line. He could tell that she was trying not to shake from anger and another guarded emotion which he had yet to make out, and so Draco licked his dry lips once, uncertain of what to do next.

"Not for long," She managed in a shaky breath, shoving past him and storming into their bedroom. The last thing Draco heard was a loud bang as she slammed the door closed, and he could tell that she'd placed a Silencing Charm around the room as all grew quiet. He crossed the room to open the door, finding it useless. No matter how many times he twisted the knob or attempted to open the door with his wand, the damn thing wouldn't budge. He would have knocked the blasted piece of wood from its frame if he had felt it was necessary.

But of course, that was ridiculous. Hermione would come around once she'd gotten over her spontaneous bitch fit…right?

Turning around, Draco spotted the crumpled papers lying on the table. Quirking one brow, he walked over to the wooden table, picking up the packet with a slender hand. He turned back to the locked door of their bedroom one final time, ensuring that she wasn't standing there before fixating his attention on the crumpled packet before him. He squinted his eyes in order to read the tiny font, and when he finally made out the inky words on the printed paper, he felt his heart drop to his stomach.

They were divorce papers.

* * *

><p>Draco spent hours sitting at the kitchen table, going over and over the divorce papers before he finally nodded off to sleep. He'd managed to drink two cups of coffee and fixed himself a late night snack before he found himself unable to stay awake any longer. The painful realization that his marriage was truly coming to an end was nerve-racking in a way that upset Draco far more than it should have. This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To be divorced and off living a new life without her? Shit, that's all he'd been able to talk about since he'd bloody arrived, and Hermione—being very much like the take charge Witch she was—had gone ahead and gotten everything prepared for them.<p>

So why did it feel like such a stunning low blow?

He woke late in the night—though how late he didn't know—grunting as he rolled his shoulders. The muscles in his upper back felt stiff, and he moved to stand, sighing in exhaustion and arching his back. His grey eyes fell on the divorce papers once more and he scowled, startled by the urge to reach over and rip the document to shreds.

_Snap out of it, you spineless shit, _He thought, mentally kicking himself in the arse for giving into these weak emotions so easily. He really was like putty in the damn Mudblood's hands, wasn't it? He winced at the derogatory name, chiding himself for calling her that. Betrayal or not, that's not who she was anymore. That's not who she ever _was._

He was about to head off to bed—on the couch, no doubt, after that odd spat—when he heard what sounded like either a dying cat or a drowning walrus. Knowing that neither could be the case (though Crookshanks _was _growing rather old) he slowly began making his way through their flat, trying to pick out where the source of the noise seemed to be from. He walked down the dark hallway that neither he nor Hermione ever ventured down anymore, stopping in front of a door way that he'd promised himself he'd never enter again. But whatever the sound was, it appeared to come from the other side of the door frame. Draco hesitated, one hand hovering over the brass knob as he mentally prepared himself to enter the room that would, no doubt, open up a plethora of emotions he wasn't quite ready to face.

Holding his breath, Draco twisted the knob and entered the dark room, blinking as his silver eyes adjusted to the darkness. A sliver of light from the open door fell on a figure huddled on the ground, cradling an old and worn stuffed bear to her chest, and the sounds of gross sobbing filled the room and echoed in his ears.

_Hermione._

He hovered by the doorway for a moment, but soon walked towards her, allowing the door to swing shut behind him and envelop the pair in darkness. He knelt down on the ground next to her and noticed that she'd pressed the back of her body against the crib situated in the room.

"Hermione," He began slowly, as though he were talking to an injured child. "I thought you said you weren't going to come in here anymore."

Upon hearing him, Hermione let out another cry, her shoulders heaving inward as a spasm of sobs overwhelmed her body. Her dainty fingers clutched the bear and she cried into its soft head, her eyes glassy and filled with tears.

"He's supposed to be _here_, Draco," She cried, her wails sounding eerie and inhumane in the bedroom that was supposed to belong to their child who was never given a chance at life. A shiver passed through Draco's spine, and he moved to cradle Hermione against his chest, wondering if she was going to pull away and tell him to leave. Instead, she melted into him, burying her head in his chest as the sobs evacuated her body. The way she cried and wailed was enough to make Draco hate himself for never cleaning out this damn room before he left. He'd never seen a reason to…well, he _had,_ but he'd never been able to face what lurked behind the doorframe.

Hesitantly, Draco wrapped his arms tighter around her frail frame, bringing her closer and allowing her to have her cry out. He cursed himself for giving a damn that she was sobbing her heart out in front of him, and refrained from heaving a shaky breath that would betray his own emotions. The room smelled of dust and decay, and he groaned inwardly when he realized how _happy _they'd been upon constructing it. Days spent dedicated to painting the walls a light shade of yellow—and often ending in them painting one another and showering together afterwards. Afternoons spent shopping in various Muggle stores for the most luxurious equipment for their unborn child, while Draco bragged that he'd teach him how to fly around on a broom before his fifth birthday, to which Hermione would chide him and demand that academics came before a sports career.

They had so many wonderful things awaiting them with the arrival of Scorpius, but that incident all those months ago shattered the tiny little ball of peace and genuine happiness that the couple had been living in, and Draco had been forced to accept that they'd never achieve that together. Happiness and tranquility: it wasn't something they could ever acquire as a couple.

Hermione cried for what felt like hours, but he knew was really only a matter of ten to fifteen minutes. He remained silent during this grievous time, more out of a lack of knowing what to say to console her for the emotions which he himself was also guilty of succumbing to from time to time. Instead, he traced soothing circles in her back and allowed her to cry, wondering why she'd even ventured to this forbidden section of their flat in the first place. Did she _enjoy _tormenting herself, or had she deluded herself into thinking that she was emotionally stable enough to withstand entering what _should_ have been their child's room? He didn't know, and he didn't care to find out—not if it meant upsetting her further.

Draco hadn't noticed that Hermione's cries had subsided until she let out a yawn that caused her entire body to shiver. Her eyelids drooped low, and he could just barely make out her hazel irises as she scanned the dark room. He kept his arms locked tight around her, his hands rubbing her arms as he hoped she drifted off into a more peaceful slumber. Several moments passed in such a fashion, with only their breathing distracting him from how wonderful she felt pressed against him, or how broken she'd seemed only minutes prior.

Finally, when Draco shifted to stand and carry Hermione to bed, he felt her stir. She let out a soft grunt and sat up. She turned to face him, her hand caressing his cheek. Dazedly, Draco realized he'd forgotten to shave that morning, and her fingers felt deliciously smooth against his stubble. She offered him a lazy and broken smile, her eyes red and swollen and her lips chapped. The silence that enveloped them was deafening, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, Hermione heaved an exhausted sigh and parted her lips.

"I love you, Draco."

Draco froze, his lips pressed together and his grey eyes grew wide at her confession. He flinched at her touch, the sensation of her fingertips gliding across his cheek suddenly scorching his skin. He didn't know what to do or how to react—_shit, _of all the things to be expecting from her…

He was vaguely aware that there was a dull and aching throb located in his throat, or that his hands were beginning to tremble. He felt as though his heart was going to beat itself through his chest, and he was mildly aware of the fact that a certain amount of time had lapsed and he _still _hadn't responded to her. And yet there she was, stupidly staring at him as if he were the most precious damn thing to grace her presence.

After what seemed like an infinity of absorbing this world-shattering piece of information, Draco simply heaved a jagged sigh and pulled away from her, dashing all emotion from his face, save for a look of mild agony…a look that _barely_ even scratched the surface of what he was really feeling.

"Well don't," was all that he could manage to mutter in response.


	18. Drunken Daze

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! This chapter is mostly going to be a filler chapter leading up to the climax, but I hope it will appease you all for the time being. I'd also like to thank my friend Holly for becoming my Beta! I decided it was about time to get one, hahah. Also, my song rec for this chapter is "Shake It Out" by _Florence and the Machine. _I can't remember whether I've rec'd this or not but I'm doing it anyways! Enjoy, and let me know what you think .

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen: <strong>Drunken Daze

It had been approximately one week since Hermione had confessed her love for her husband in a pathetic heap on the floor of her deceased child's nursery. And he'd _rejected _her. Well, of course he'd bloody rejected her! Hermione had to remind herself that her husband was in no way, shape or form indebted to her—he didn't have to reciprocate her obvious mess of emotions. Hell, he'd told her _himself _that he planned to leave once the six months were up. It was completely idiotic and foolish of her to think that she could change his mind. Merlin, she couldn't _force _him to love her.

But a part of her sincerely wished that she possessed that ability.

A nice bout of air and time spent away from the man she was willing to do anything for seemed like just the cure for the ridiculous amount of heartache she'd felt over his response. And really, she couldn't help but to be a bit cross with him—after all, he'd treated her like everything was fine again! Or was she just allowing her own emotions to blind all of his ulterior motives? She had been the one to initiate the sex, if she recalled correctly—that night in the shower all those weeks ago now being reflected on painfully now.

Shaking her head, Hermione primped herself in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing the bland brown dress she'd thrown on and running a brush through her hair. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, and Hermione set the comb down on the edge of the bathroom counter, hanging her head low as her mind replayed that fateful night over and over again.

"_Well don't."_

The only response he could have given her after she allowed her emotions to explode out of her like that—_not _tolove him. As if she could stop that easily! A small "hmph" passed through her lips, and Hermione suddenly held her head high, tucking her bottom lip under her teeth so as to keep herself from crying. That's all she ever seemed to do lately—cry. She'd cry herself to sleep; cry on the way to work. She'd cry in the shower—crying, crying, crying; anything to silence the pain that came with the absence of his return of affections.

And Draco had managed to keep away from her; as though he was fully aware of the weight that her words held. Either that, or Hermione had scared him off. Heaving a shaky sigh, she ran a hand through her hair before deciding that it was as tamed as it could possibly be and moved to exit the bathroom. She picked her wand up and tucked it inside her purse, trying to avoid making contact with the couch, where her husband was seated, as she made her way to the front floor, her heels clacking painfully loud against the wooden floor.

She thought she'd made it through the house safely, but as her hand grasped the cool knob of the front door and she twisted it, she heard Draco clear his throat. The muscles in her back tensed, and she refused to turn around and stare into those piercing grey eyes of his—Godric knew she'd get lost in them, just as she had several times before.

"Hermione," He began uncertainly, as though he was choking on his words. "I was thinking—we should talk…after, you know, after you come home."

Hermione stood stock still for the next handful of moments, silently weighing her options. It would be so easy to cave into his demands and willingly sit down and talk with him. Perhaps she'd finally get down to the root of their problem—why was he acting so estranged? What caused him to reject her that dismal night in the old and unused nursery? Would he ever forgive her for the mistake she made all those months ago?

The questions flew through her mind, and the ex-Gryffindor grew so overwhelmed with all of these brilliant new concepts and questions that her knees buckled underneath her, but she somehow maintained the strength to stand. She knew exactly what her heart wanted out of this, and yet she heard herself coolly replying with,

"I have nothing to say to you."

And then she slammed the door shut behind her, determined to forget him.

* * *

><p>"Hermione," Harry shouted uncertainly over the roar of the thunderous club. "Are you sure you should be having another drink?"<p>

Hermione merely grumbled in response, lifting the glass to her lips and downing the last few drops of the vodka mix in her cup. Her lips tugged into a slight pout of disappointment, and she quickly raised her hand and flung it around wildly, desperately trying to catch the tender's attention.

"I'd l—like another one!" She slurred, leaning forward over the bar and hiccupping slightly. Merlin, she was _hammered._

Deep down—in the part of her that was still conscious of her surroundings, Hermione felt bloody awful. Guilty for ruining what was supposed to be an entertaining evening out with her friends, angry because of the way Draco was treating her, and ashamed that she was allowing him to affect her in such a way. Hermione eagerly licked her lips as she saw the tender reluctantly pour her another glass, mumbling to himself something about how young women shouldn't get so intoxicated. Hermione jutted her chin forward, picking up the glass with greedy hands and lifting it to her lips, taking a drink.

"Yeah, I think she's had enough," Hermione heard Ron mumble in response, and had enough sense to narrow her eyes in his direction and scoff, oblivious to just how wretchedly intoxicated she really was. She should have been disturbed by the fact that the room appeared to be spinning in front of her very eyes, but she refused to focus on that. The alcohol numbed her emotions for the time being—made her feel free, in a sense, and that was all she needed for the time being. Enough of the heartache, confusion and preparing to bid adieu to the only man she'd ever loved so fiercely before.

With this realization, Hermione let out a soft cry and shook her head, taking another swig of the vodka to distract herself. She could sense Harry shift uneasily, scanning the dim and densely-packed room as though he were wishing he could escape right then and there.

Slamming her glass down on the counter so that the clear liquid sloshed over and dribbled down her hand, Hermione shoved herself away from the counter and gave her friends a crooked and watery smile before stumbling over her heels on her way to the dance floor. She threw her arms up and bobbed her head slightly, screaming and singing along with the music, though the upbeat tune that was currently pulsating through the club was unfamiliar to her.

She felt Ginny, Harry and Ron follow close behind her, and if she hadn't been so completely drunk, she might have even noticed Ginny whispering about her embarrassing herself to Harry. And even if she had been aware of it, at this point the blubbering wife of Draco Malfoy wouldn't have really given a damn. Her arms flailed around as she sashayed her hips in an ungraceful manner, hiccupping and laughing giddily as the raspy drawl of the singer began another chorus.

"Oh, isn't this fun!" She slurred, bobbing her head so that her curls—which had grown frizzy in the heat of the tightly-packed club—thrashed around wildly. Harry sputtered as a strand of frizzy hair whapped him in the face, and Ginny let out a small snort. Ron merely stood off to the side, shifting awkwardly as Hermione danced wildly around them. Uncertainly, Harry and Ginny soon joined in, moving their limbs in an awkward and forced sort of way, as though they were forcing themselves to have fun.

"Oh, stop ruining all the fun, you two!" Hermione drawled, halting her movements so that her arms swung idly at her sides. Ron gave a low snort, and Ginny and Harry stared at her in awe. She licked her lips once, gazing at them with glassy eyes and growing quite still. She narrowed her eyes slightly and heaved a jagged sigh, a shiver passing down the length of her spine.

She saw a flash of blonde a few feet away, and felt her heart flutter restlessly in her chest. Without another word she shoved past her friends, stumbling in her haste. The shock of hair she'd seen had been far too pale—white-blonde, almost, and she gave a pathetic cry as she shoved her way through the throng of people, following the mop of hair before her. She didn't care if her friends were following her or not, she was only focused on reaching her destination.

Stumbling into a clearing and breathing heavily, she grabbed the man with the shockingly pale blonde hair by the shoulder and turned him around, her brows furrowed together.

"You think you can just come here to me after—" She slurred, stopping dead in her tracks and allowing the words that had blossomed on the tip of her tongue to wilt as she came to realize with a sickening twist in her abdomen that the man she'd so forcefully grabbed was not her husband, but rather a stranger with the tips of his hair died a pale blonde.

She mumbled a pathetic apology, ducking out and shoving past him. She had begun to trip over her wobbly legs when a hand reached out and grabbed her, and through the stinging blur of tears she spotted a concerned face and long, red hair. Ginny.

Ginny was surrounded by Harry and Ron, both of whom looked concerned for her. Hermione wiped the corners of her eyes, sniffling as her head pounded. How could she have been so stupid? Draco didn't know where she was—and even if he had, she doubted he would have come looking for her. What the woman hated most of all, however, was the sinking sensation of disappointment that accompanied her realization that the man she'd chased down was not, in fact, her betrothed.

"Hermione," Ginny said sternly. "I think it's time you went home."

Hermione could only manage to nod in response, her throat aching far too much for her to dare speak. She felt as though she was going to explode any moment—nothing sounded more pleasant than crawling into bed and sleeping this numb feeling away. She licked her lips once more, and prepared to Apparate. As if her friends could tell what she was doing, Ginny laid a hand firmly on Hermione's shoulder, causing the brunette Witch to look up in confusion, blinking rapidly.

"Ron's going to take you home," Ginny said gently, which caused Hermione to reel in shock. She hadn't been left alone with Ron since that afternoon all those months ago when he'd stopped by her flat and attempted to tell her that she didn't _really _love Draco. Remembering the evening and Draco's reaction was enough to make her roll her eyes, though the action looked queer in her intoxicated state. However, Ron seemed willing to help, for he held his arm out to her and forced a friendly smile, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly, as though she feared this was all some sort of ruse, and that Ron was secretly against her. However, she deigned to take his arm in her own, too exhausted to give a damn at this point.

Ginny and Harry awkwardly waved their goodbyes as Ron led them through the club, completely silent. As he shoved through the front door and gently guided her along, Hermione shivered as the cool late winter air nipped at her skin. Her teeth chattered and she teetered uneasily as he guided her down the street and into a dark alley behind the club. He glanced at her once, his expression softening upon her more than likely pathetic state before Disapparating, though Hermione didn't have time to register the odd and undecipherable emotion that flickered across his face.

She felt nauseas as they Disapparated, landing outside the door to her flat with a slight thud. Hermione teetered, her stomach churning and her eyes desperate to adjust to the lighting of the hall, but Ron was quick to support her. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, and Hermione looked into his eyes, a curious expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, Ron," She slurred, genuine with her apology. In this vulnerable state of tumultuous emotions, Hermione would allow herself to admit that she still felt guilty for the fact that she had, in a way, deserted her emotions for Ron when they transitioned to Draco. And she feared that he still felt the same way about her—still cared for her and all. It hurt to know that she was causing someone pain like Draco had caused her.

Ron swallowed, and she became entranced by the way his Adams Apple bobbed as he did so. Her lips parted slightly, and her glassy brown eyes slid up to meet his, and she grew overwhelmed with their situation.

"Don't worry about it, 'Mione," He said, shrugging away from her. "Malfoy's a bloody idiot for not caring about you."

"No, Ron," Hermione breathed, heaving a shaky breath. "I'm the—the idiot. I knew he wasn't going to…" She choked off, a strangled sob leaving her lips. She pressed her hand over her mouth, the tears brimming over her eyes and trickling down her fingers. She shook her head and excused herself, fumbling with the door knob and letting herself inside. She heaved a broken "goodnight", shutting the door behind her and staggering through the kitchen. She didn't care if Draco heard her crying; he could deal with that however he liked. She kicked her heels off, nearly tumbling into the wall as the sobs evacuated her body. She felt broken and ill—drinking her problems away wasn't going to solve anything, and though she was still exceedingly drunk, she knew that the alcohol would never cure the pain she felt concerning her marriage.

Hermione attempted to fumble through the sitting room, but between banging into things in the dark—with her lack of coordination to thank for that—as well as her inhumane cries, she soon heard someone stirring from the couch, and the lamp next to her flicked on. Draco stood, clad in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, his blonde hair sticking up every which way as he blinked back the sleep from his eyes. He stared at his wife in shock, trying to register the sight before him. Hermione was certain that most of the make-up she'd managed to wear now coated her cheeks, and her hair was probably a mess from thrashing her head around so much. And yet still she continued to cry; just staring at the man was enough to break her heart all over again.

It was only after a few minutes had passed that Hermione gathered the sense to try and move past him into the bedroom. He stopped her as she attempted to clumsily scoot around him, though, partially blocking her from the entrance to the bedroom door.

"Hermione," He said sleepily, as though he was still processing what was occurring. "What's wrong?"

Growing infuriated, Hermione shrugged him off, her lower lip jutting out and her brows drawing together as she tried to force herself to stop crying.

"Why do—why do _you _even care? "She cried, clawing at his chest, completely wasted. "You're the one who doesn't love me—you obviously shouldn't care about what happens to me!"

As soon as the words passed through her lips, she regretted them. Allowing him to know that his response—or lack thereof—to her proclamations of love affected her this deeply was a blow to her pride, and she felt a blush creep up her neck.

"I never said that," Draco responded quietly after a few minutes of silence, and Hermione stared at him in astonishment. Did he just…?

"What did you just say?" She breathed, fearing she would ruin the moment. He stared at her in silence for a moment, swallowing heavily. Slowly, as if by a gravitational pull, Hermione leaned closer to him, staring at him with hungry and wide eyes. She felt as though time was ticking by slowly as they inched closer and closer to one another, and when the Witch was a hairbreadth away from pressing her lips against her Wizard's, Draco jerked away, causing Hermione to whimper slightly.

"I think you need to go to bed," He whispered hoarsely, and Hermione felt the bitter sting of tears flood her eyes once more. She attempted to shove past him once more, fumbling with the knob in vain. She heard an exasperated sigh from behind her, and Draco reached over to open the door, guiding her to the bed. She watched him with silent tears trickling down her face as Draco pulled down the covers; a jerk of his head motioning for her to climb into bed. When she did, he stood over her, and Hermione made sure his face was the last thing she saw as her eyelids drooped shut.

The last thing she heard before she drifted off to sleep was a murmur—so airy and light that she could have confused it with her dream. It was Draco's voice—soft and bitter as he whispered close to her ear,

"I hope you understand one day."


	19. Farewell

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! I apologize that this chapter is a bit shorter, but I felt that I needed to end it here considering how I want to deal with the plot next. I hope you've all been doing well, and I'd like to once again thank everyone who reads/reviews my fic! My song rec for this chapter is "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot. No particular reason, I was just listening to it a lot as I wrote.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen: <strong>Farewell

Guilt—to put it lightly, that was how Draco had been feeling ever since the night he had denied Hermione in the nursery. To say he was disappointed in himself was an exaggerated understatement. He felt hopeless, in a sense—as though his only chance at proving something to the only Witch he'd ever held an attachment for had suddenly been thrown away.

All because he was too damn cowardly to admit to her that he'd used her as a pawn in his game. Only initially, of course—and unwittingly—but he'd used her nonetheless. His arrival after so many months abroad was not with good intentions, and hell, he didn't know he was going to end up—

He cleared his throat, flipping a page in the book before him to distract him from finishing the particularly dangerous thought. Growing frustrated, he tossed the novel aside and heaved a long sigh, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.

Things had been…tense between him and his wife as of late, to say the very least. The days following her confession had been brutal to the point of the only way he could refrain himself from admitting something he'd later regret was to avoid her. And she seemed more than pleased that he had.

But it was driving him mad, all the same. The way she'd reacted the night she came home drunk, and how vulnerable and hurt she appeared in the way in which he treated her…Draco shuddered at the thought. No sense in adding to his already monumental guilt, now was there? He moved off the couch, running a hand through his hair and pacing back and forth.

Ever since his meeting with Nott, Draco had been struggling—in vain—to figure out some way to overcome the obstacle of the deal they'd set up. If he were to simply deny Theo the satisfaction of his wife's memories, then the slimy git would surely make up some bullshit story about going undercover and finding out Draco's true motives for returning and report it to the Ministry. Draco's hands balled into fists just thinking about the different ways that the Nott Heir could ruin his life.

But there had to be a way…he just hadn't thought of it yet. Right?

He spent the better portion of the afternoon—which Hermione thankfully spent at work—pacing back and forth in the living room of their flat, muttering to himself. He felt like an imbecile, in all honesty, for not figuring out a way to slither around this entire arrangement. He was a Slytherin, damnit—cunning and sly, wasn't he supposed to be a master of those traits? And yet here he stood, a pathetic sham of the prosperous young man he had once been, struggling between the emotions he felt for his confused wife and the duty he had to the wretched agreement he'd sunk into.

There had been an idea lingering in his mind—one which he'd promised not to resort to, but he feared it was the only option he had left. His silver eyes lingered on their bedroom, the door of which was slightly ajar. He heaved a jagged breath, slowly walking into the room and pushing the door open in the process. He glanced around their room, which smelled of her delicious perfume. He walked over to their dresser, opening it and staring at her clothes, so neatly folded. Draco trailed his fingers along her comfortable sweaters, neatly piled up together before shutting the door. This entire damn flat reminded him of what they used to have—something he'd never have again.

He'd thought that, perhaps, spending these six months with her would cause the ex-Slytherin to fall out of love with his wife. On the contrary, he feared he was much more in love with her than ever before. His eyes lingered on their room one final time, and his heart ached painfully with the realization of what he had to do.

When you loved someone, he reminded himself, then you had to do what was best for them. Even if it meant shattering your own heart in the process.

With determined strides, Draco stomped into their closet, lugging out his worn black leather suitcase with the emerald "M" embedded on it, pulling it out and tossing it on the bed. He quickly undid the zipper and fumbled around their bedroom, retrieving his clothes and stuffing them into his trunk. He wouldn't be able to take all of his possessions, of course, but he figured he needed a decent amount of clothing. He paused in the middle of stuffing a pair of socks into a crook of the compartment, eyeing his old and worn copy of _Hamlet. _Hermione had first introduced the play to him shortly after their marriage—it had been a comfort to him to read it in times of distress, because it was one of the first things that they discussed in a civilized manner. It linked them together, somehow, which is why Draco spent so many a night rereading the play.

It offered him comfort where she could not.

Grunting in defeat, he clomped the few feet across to the bedside table, snatching the book off the table top and moving to stuff it into his trunk. Sighing in aggravation, he slammed the lid of his trunk closed and zipped it tight, eyeing the room for anything he might have missed. He patted the pocket of his trousers just in case, ensuring that his wand was with him. If he was going to be successful in his endeavor to destroy Theo's plan, then he had to make sure his most precious weapon was safely stowed away.

It had been a simple plan, really, and if the conditions had been different, he would have been pleased with himself for devising such a fool-proof plan. Theo had given him the six months to coax his wife into visiting Nott Industries and stealing her memories for profit, and Draco had idly sat by and agreed to it like a fucking imbecile. How could he possibly expect to be productive while living under the same roof as her? Did he honestly think he could protect her from the monsters that lurked outside their flat? He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in aggravation, lugging his trunk off the bed as he went over the plan in his mind.

He had to get Nott alone—had to fool him into believing he'd set up Hermione to trail after him and meet him at the Ministry. Draco thanked Merlin that he'd been a convincing liar during the days of his secret task in Hogwarts, hoping that the trait would hold for the deception he was about to commit.

If Nott were to believe him—which Draco prayed he would—then Draco would brandish his wand and Obliviate Theo. And if that didn't work—which he doubted it would, only a naïve fool would expect something as simple as an Oblivation attack to run smoothly in a case as dangerous as this—then he'd offer himself to Theo as a substitute. He'd been Obliviated once, and he was sure he could handle being so again. His memories, while not as precious as Hermione's, were still of grand value on the black market, and would make Theo a nice little fortune. He was sure that the man wouldn't refuse his offer—he knew Theo enough, and his greed and lust for wealth and power would cause him to reconsider their original agreement.

The only thing Draco feared was forgetting. He didn't want to forget Hermione, but he knew it was bound to happen anyways. Once the six months were up, he'd promised to leave, so leaving now to protect her was only speeding up the process. He had to learn to say goodbye at some point though, right?

By this time, he'd lugged his trunk all the way to the kitchen, and was preparing to Apparate when a painful sense of nostalgia and longing washed over him. He paused, setting down the case with a dull thud and looking around their flat.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was going to miss the place—miss it, as well as everything associated with it. He was going to miss lounging with Hermione on the sofa and discussing their days, as they'd done countless times while happily married. His eyes trailed over to their bedroom, with the door now shut, and a painful knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He was going to miss making love to his wife—knowing every curve and dip of her perfect body. The intimacy they shared was something beautiful, and to lose that would be one of the most painful things he'd ever have to accept.

His silver eyes tore themselves away from the wooden door and fell on the kitchen table next, and he could almost picture them there—Draco scooting a mug of coffee towards her and sitting down, allowing the bushy-haired Witch to make a deal that she give him a good make-up shag in the shower for all she'd put him through. It didn't feel like it had been months ago, not particularly, and yet time had slipped through his fingers. Precious, beautiful time.

And he had wasted it.

The guilt was overwhelming in that moment, and Draco selfishly decided that he wouldn't leave the flat until Hermione knew at least a fraction of how he felt. She wasn't due home from work for a while, and he doubted that he'd have the strength to go through with the prospect of leaving if she were there in front of him. So, Draco decided, he was going to go about this the cowardly way.

He stumbled into the kitchen, opening up random drawers and rifling through them until he'd successfully located a pad of paper and a pen. He pulled the cap of the writing utensil off with his teeth, spitting it out of his mouth and hurriedly turning the pad of paper to face him. He stared down at the lined paper for a painful series of moments, at a loss for what to say as he drummed his fingers against the countertop. No matter what he said, it would never be enough—she'd never forgive him, and it would never accurately express what he felt.

Hesitantly, Draco pressed the tip of the pen against the fresh paper, and began to write in loose cursive.

_Hermione,_

_You know how completely wretched I am at these things, so I'm going to have to make this brief. You will, if you have not already, become aware of the fact that I've left. I don't suggest you come and find me, though I doubt you'd try. My reasons for leaving aren't what you believe they are—I'm not appalled by what you revealed to me that night in Scorpius' nursery, nor am I running away from commitment._

_I love you, to be painfully blunt. I never stopped loving you—not when I left and recovered my memories; not when I came back to find you. I'd fooled myself into believing I could live a life peacefully without you, but I was wrong. I was wrong in the worst sense of the word. My conscience has been eating away at me for months, and now I must go and right the wrong I committed. The night that you told me you loved me…there was a reason I didn't verbally reciprocate your emotions._

_I'm not worthy of you._

_I'm always going to love you, Hermione, and I want you to remember that. But I also want you to try and move on—find someone better suited for you, like Weasley or another one of Potter's friends. Find someone who won't make you miserable and sob into your pillow every night. I'm always going to try and be something that I'm not in this marriage—I'll never be good enough, yet I'll always try and pretend that I was enough for you._

_I want you to be happy…even if it means it's not with me._

_Draco_

Nowhere near satisfied with his letter but realizing he didn't have enough time to revise it, Draco grunted and snatched up the paper in his hand, walking over to the kitchen table and setting it down where she could see it. He backed away, resisting the urge to snatch it up and rip the paper to shreds. Deciding it was best he left before he acted on that impulse, he snatched his trunk up and groped around for his wand in his pocket. Locating it, he pulled the magic stick out and closed his eyes, Disapparating from the comfort of their flat for what he supposed was the final time.

Draco landed in a dark and damp hallway—the same narrow corridor of Nott Industries that he'd become acquainted with. He began walking slowly down the hall, his shoulders brushing against the walls as he lugged his suitcase behind him. Pausing in front of a doorway, he looked around to assure that no one was watching him before twisting the knob and opening the door to reveal a barren broom closet. He shoved his trunk inside, charming it to stay invisible before shutting the door behind him and locking it.

He felt the anxiety of his mission spread throughout his body, and he stuffed his wand up his sleeve, snagging it so that it held against loops positioned on the inside of his robe. Slowly and meticulously he walked down the rest of the corridor, stopping just outside Nott's office. He composed himself, washing his face of all emotion as he lifted an alabaster hand and knocked firmly. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, Draco licked his lips once in apprehension.

_Everything is going to go fine,_ He lied to himself.

He detected the slightest movement on the other side of the doorway, and soon the knob jiggled and was thrust open to reveal a very gaunt, very pleased-looking Theodore Nott.

"Back so soon?" He drawled, his brows shooting forward.

"She's on her way," Draco clipped out, and was rewarded by a sinister smile stretching across Theodore's face.

"Excellent."


	20. The Importance of a Memory

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! Ah, we've reached that special time, haven't we? The beloved climax, what a beautiful and antsy time. Needless to say, this chapter's a bit longer than how I usually make them, but on the whole I'd say I'm pretty satisfied with how it went! As always, thanks to Holly for beta'ing it for me, and thanks to all of you who read/comment! My song rec for this chapter will be "Malfoy's Mission", which I believe was composed by Nicholas Hooper, because I love the Half-Blood Prince Soundtrack. Anyways, enjoy, and let me know what you think!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty: <strong>The Importance of a Memory

Hermione hated working overtime as much as she loved it—her job was one that required constant attention, and as a responsible Witch, she was more than willing to dedicate her time to it. Helping others had always been a passion of hers—she was, in fact, quite compassionate!—and working as a Healer at St. Mungo's allowed her that joy.

And yet, as she Apparated to the flat she shared with Draco, her arms full of medical files, she couldn't help but groan. There was so much paperwork that had to be done! So many cases she had yet to study! Her mind was overwhelmed with a case that she had not yet resolved—a pair of young twins who had come down with a nasty and unidentifiable rash. Not even her strongest vial of Dittany had been able to cure the boys, nor had any effect on them!

Sighing in frustration, Hermione set her pile of paperwork on the kitchen table, unknowingly covering up the letter Draco had addressed to her. She rolled her shoulders and grunted slightly, flipping on the kitchen light and allowing her gaze to trail over the main portion of the flat. She saw no signs of her estranged husband, and it disturbed Hermione to realize just how much that upset her.

She was still embarrassed about her drunken fiasco, and the mortifying memories clouded her vision and overwhelmed her senses, causing her head to ache. Hermione yanked at the elastic band that held her unruly mane in a bun, her curly hair falling and framing her face wildly. She massaged her temples for a moment, decide a hot shower to unhinge her muscles sounded like the most appealing thing presently. Making her way to the shower, Hermione pulled her scrubs off and padded into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. As she turned the spout on high and waited for the water to warm and for the tiny space to envelop her in a thick cloud of steam, Hermione couldn't help but allow her thoughts to drift back to Draco. She wondered where he was, and then continued to ponder why she even gave a damn in the first place. It was clear to her that her attachment was far deeper than his, and she feared as she scrambled into the shower and shut the glass door behind her that she'd lost her chance. She'd betrayed him, and even if he didn't precisely know _why, _he knew enough to resent her.

And she hated herself for that.

The troubled Witch allowed the water to wash over her figure, dribbling down her skin and causing her curly hair to plaster against her neck and back like brown paint. She applied the body wash to her skin, lathering the soap across her slippery body and allowing the drops of water that cascaded from the faucet head to wash away the suds. She gave a soft groan as the water pelted against her skin and loosened her taut muscles, the action refreshing and delicious. She remembered the showers she and Draco had shared together since his return; how his hands felt massaging the shampoo into her scalp, and the way his body pressed against hers, or how he—she shook her head, shivering slightly. No, _no_—she wasn't allowed to think about him! She _couldn't _think about him.

Yet, as much as she scolded herself for doing so, Hermione couldn't stop the constant thoughts of her husband that penetrated the carefully crafted walls of her mind. When she wasn't reflecting on the memories they'd shared since his return all those months ago, she was wondering where he could possibly be. Not once had he left to hang out with a friend since his return, so she suspected he'd probably decided to go drinking. The thought made her worry for him—her compassion caused her to fear that Draco would drink himself into a stupor, and that was the very last thing she wanted.

Realizing she'd been standing still in the shower for an absurd amount of time, Hermione turned the faucet off and the calming sound of water pattering against the tile floor of the shower ceased.

The silence that spread through the flat was excruciating; nothing but the sound of her own feet padding against the floor to fill the air. She draped a white towel around her form after wringing the wet water from her mass of curls, rolling her shoulders once more. She made her way from the bathroom to the joint bedroom, rifling through her closet for a pair of jeans and a sweater. She'd been debating on leaving to go and see Ginny ever since she'd left work—the possibility of having a nasty run-in with Malfoy seemed less and less tempting as the day dragged on, and Ginny seemed to be the best alternative to spending an evening being screamed at or ignored.

Besides, they had so much to discuss! Ginny was getting married soon, and Hermione had to make sure that the wedding dress her mother had handed down to her fit her properly! Godric only knew how wretched Ginny must've been feeling these past few weeks, with nothing but Molly's well-intended yet excruciatingly tiring nagging to pass the time. Plus, Hermione had to go and pick up her bridesmaid dress—and then there was the entire ordeal of needing to question what, exactly, she and Harry wanted as a wedding present! Oh, she had a few things in mind, to be sure, but Hermione wanted to ensure that she was purchasing the gift that would make her best friend and his bride the two happiest people in the world.

She mused over different appliances or magical items she could purchase Harry and Ginny as she pulled her sweater over her head, shivering slightly as the chill of her flat nipped at her skin. Deciding a hot fire would be most beneficial after a relaxing shower, Hermione sighed and snatched a small novel from her bookshelf, heading into the sitting room. She'd go and visit Ginny after warming up, that was what she'd do!

Satisfied with her plan, Hermione flipped the switch for the gas fire and sat on the chair positioned near the fireplace, curling her legs under her and opening the worn cover of the aged romance novel she'd managed to snatch. Sighing in content, she snuggled into the warmth that emitted from the orange fire and began to read, licking her lips. She'd managed to get through the first twenty pages, not completely digesting what she was reading, when she heard an odd crackle coming from the fireplace that indicated someone wished to communicate to her via the Floo Network. Furrowing her brows together, Hermione shut the book she'd been reading in favor of turning her head to gaze into the bright orange ball of fire that crackled and fizzled in the fireplace.

She watched, mildly interested, as the fire crackled and fizzed out, being replaced by a bright green ball of flame, and she could just barely make out the contours of a vaguely familiar face peering at her through the fire. She squinted her hazel eyes slightly, waiting for the figure to come into focus, and when he did, Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. She recoiled instantly, her heart hammering wildly in her chest and her eyes growing wide. She dropped the book she'd been half-heartedly reading, and the paperback novel fell to the ground with a slight thud. Gripping the arms of her chair, Hermione took several moments to calm herself before speaking. It had been so long since she'd seen him—so long since she'd feared his presence, and yet…and yet there he was—his face shining up at her through her fireplace.

Oh, she was going to be sick, she just knew it.

"Theodore Nott," She managed to breathe, her chest aching as she uttered each syllable. Oh, Merlin, what did _he _want? She tried to calm herself; tried to fool herself into believing he'd completely forgotten all about their past conflicts, and was merely calling to inquire after her.

But she wasn't really that naïve, and the smirk that slowly stretched across his face did nothing but further convince her that he was up to no good.

"So glad you remember me," came the amused response of one Theodore Nott, and Hermione watched, transfixed, as his eyes locked onto hers. They were dark and cold, even as he stared at her through the Floo, and Hermione wished for nothing more in that instant than to douse the connection and run from the room.

"What do you want?" She managed, and Hermione had the sense to worry for half a second that the cruel man speaking to her could sense her fear. She was sure he could—_positive_ of it, in fact.

"Oh, I've already gotten half of what I desire," Theo stated plainly, as though he were engaging in casual conversation. His words caused the anxiety that had begun to fester in her gut to swell, and Hermione found her narrowing her eyes slightly and leaning forward in her chair, licking her chapped lips and devoting all of her attention to the man communicating with her through the Floo.

"What do you mean _half of what you desire_?"

She could hear the disapproving sigh from her enemy's receiving end of the conversation, and knew that she had somehow upset him by not being able to infer what he meant. As if she could bloody well tell what he meant by "half of what he desired"! She didn't spend her time trying to figure out the likes of people like Theodore Nott, and she certainly didn't plan on taking up the occupation anytime soon.

But all Theo did was shake his head solemnly at her inquiry. Damn cunning bastard!

"Perhaps you should ask your husband," Theo quipped suddenly, and Hermione's body tensed at the mention of Draco. He knew something—he had to.

Rather than jumping to conclusions, Hermione blinked twice, at a loss for how to respond. Where was her quick thinking and superb wit at a time like this?

"That's right, you don't _know _where your husband is, do you, Miss Granger?" Theo pressed, and Hermione felt her heart sputter rapidly from the confines of her chest. Oh, Merlin—he _did _know something.

"What have you done with him?" Hermione choked out breathlessly, the muscles in her body aching as she resisted the urge to tremble and beg for his release.

"Nothing that concerns you at the moment," Theo responded coolly, his eyes boring into hers. "And I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that if you don't arrive and give me what I've wanted for quite a while now, then no one's going to see your husband again."

Her memories again—_that's _what this entire sordid affair was about! Hermione felt ill, her stomach twisting itself into knots as she frantically searched for a solution to the problem at hand. There was no doubt in her mind that Theo really did have Draco held hostage—it would certainly explain why the clever Witch had neither seen nor heard from her husband at all for the duration of the day, she just—Theo wouldn't have harmed Draco, would he?

Oh, Godric, she hoped not.

When Hermione made no move to respond, Theo clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth once, clearly deciding he was once more steering the conversation and taking matters into his own hands.

"You know where my office is located, Granger—I'm certain you know the place quite well, by now—" He paused to snicker, and Hermione wished she could hex the bloody smirk off his face right then and there. "—if you haven't arrived within the next hour, your husband will be forced to pay for your insolence."

"Nott, how in the hell—"

"One hour, Granger," He snapped, cutting her off and disappearing from the Floo, leaving a panic-stricken Hermione with only one option left.

She had to save her husband—one way or another.

Once Hermione had finally managed to find some semblance of balance, she scrambled to her feet, dashing into the bedroom and frantically searching for a scrap piece of paper and a quill. She quickly jotted down a note to Harry—there was no way in hell that she'd be able to pull off a feat like this by herself and come unscathed.

She needed her friends.

Quickly—and with poor description—Hermione scrawled out the plan to her best friend. If anyone was going to be able to help him, it was Harry. After reading over her hastily scribbled thoughts and ensuring it was clear that she wished for Harry to arrive with the Minister Shacklebolt and other members of the Ministry after a specific amount of time had lapsed from when he'd received the letter, Hermione sent the Owl for Harry.

Once she watched the Owl fly off into the night, Hermione scrambled over herself searching for materials. She snatched her wand from its position on the nightstand and quickly stuffed it into her sleeve. Next, she searched for her shoes, slipping them on as her curly hair bobbed wildly around her face. Every two minutes or so she frantically checked the clock mounted in the family room, checking and noting—with considerable relief—that she hadn't run out of time.

Time was precious—it was a sacred thing that slipped through your fingertips when you weren't looking. So much time she'd wasted since Draco had arrived again; so many weeks she had spent tiptoeing around him. So many months she'd spent ostracized—detaching herself from society so that she could freely mope in her husband's absence.

An abundance of time that she'd allowed the heartless and greedy man that was Theodore Nott to run free.

But that all ended today.

Once Hermione had ensured that she had all the materials necessary for her mission, she glanced once more around her flat, her heart thudding in her chest as she silently prayed that Harry had received her Owl and was already making necessary preparations for the invasion.

Fumbling in her sleeve for her wand, Hermione gulped a pocket full of air and shakily prepared herself, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. Her fingers trembled and her thighs ached, all the while her mind was consistently praying that her beloved was still alright—that he hadn't been harmed too badly.

Licking her lips and envisioning the destination at hand, Hermione Disapparated from the flat. She landed in a dark alley in the middle of London, and the chilly night air nipped at her skin brutally. She staggered slightly, allowing her eyes to flicker open as she gathered her bearings. Stowing her wand back into the sleeve of her sweater, Hermione glanced around the nearly deserted streets, tiptoeing towards the building she'd instructed Harry to enter upon arriving at the secret location of Nott industries.

Gripping the rusty doorknob, Hermione turned it slowly and the rickety wooden door creaked open, revealing a set of stairs that descended into darkness. Squinting, she detected a soft glow—a faint light of sorts at the bottom of the steps, and with buckling knees Hermione began to descend the steps, willing her Gryffindor courage to assemble itself in time for her to meet the dreaded man whose name she'd feared for so long.

Tonight, Hermione Granger was going to be forced to face the inner demon that she'd been battling for over a year.

Little did she know, so would Draco.

Hermione focused on the sound of her sneakers scraping against the cement of the stairs, soft echoes resounding and filling her ears. Her breathing was shallow, and as she climb down the last step, Hermione felt a surge of confidence swell within her. She could do this—she _had _to do this. For Draco; for herself. For everything they had and everything they know longer were.

She realized in that moment, as she stood huddled at the bottom of the stairs, gazing wearily down the long and narrow corridor that would eventually lead to the confrontation she'd been avoiding for so long, that she deserved peace and happiness out of this situation just as much as Draco had. She hadn't willingly turned her husband in, nor had she planned to be the crux of his downfall! She'd been Obliviated, and while she did—and always would, she suspected—felt guilty for what she'd done to him, it didn't mean that the weight of the crime needed to rest on her shoulders.

No, that right belonged to Theodore Nott, and Theodore Nott only.

Jutting her chin forward, Hermione slowly made the trek down the damp and narrow corridor, feeling her arms brush against the walls on either side of her as she grew closer and closer to the lone door positioned at the end of the hall. She could practically hear her heart thudding violently in her chest, and she noted that her mouth had grown dry, as if someone had stuffed a wad of cotton down her throat.

Finally reaching the end of the long corridor, Hermione made sure to stand tall and appear confident before rapping twice on the door leading into Theodore Nott's office. There was a period of silence that followed, and Hermione was preparing to knock insistently until someone opened the damn door when she heard the doorknob rattle from the other side. She stepped back a foot, her hands growing clammy as the door was thrown open to reveal Theodore Nott.

Hermione blinked twice, her eyes adjusting to the beam of light that filtered the hall from his surprisingly clean office—the interior of which didn't seem to match the deteriorated state of the rest of the building. She glared at him for a moment, inspecting him and noting that he hadn't changed much since she'd last seen him. Still lean; still gaunt; still equipped with those dark eyes that could pierce you with just the slightest of gaze.

If he wasn't such a prick, he might have had a handsome face—in a dark and mysterious sort of way, of course.

Hermione peered into the office, standing on her tiptoes and trying in vain to locate her husband. She couldn't see him from this angle, and itched to shove past the man who barricaded the door, screaming Draco's name the entire time.

Instead, she focused her glare back on Theo, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well?" Hermione spat, malice lacing her voice. Theo merely stared at her in response, his expression impassive. Oh, honestly, was she going to have to do _all _the talking?

"I'm here," She stated coldly, glancing him up and down once as she patted her foot impatiently. "Now where's my husband?"

For the first time since her arrival, Theo chuckled—a small and quiet act that Hermione would have missed had she not been paying close enough attention, but chuckle he did. The action made Hermione want to slap the growing smirk off his face and scream at him till her bloody vocal cords cracked. The nerve of him to laugh in a situation such as this!

"Don't make me ask again, Nott!" Hermione shrieked, and suddenly the ability to refrain from barging in lasted no longer. She shoved past him and into the office, looking around warily and noticing that her husband was nowhere to be found. A dull ache began to form in Hermione's throat and her knees wobbled slightly, nothing but fear for Draco overwhelming her being. She turned around the room one before moving to face Theo once more, who was still positioned by the door. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, a queer and unidentifiable expression etched onto his hollow features.

"So worried about your husband," Theo said quietly, shaking his head sadly. He pursed his lips—in a fashion that was an irritating mocking of the way her husband habitually pursed his own—and Hermione felt her hands ball into fists. What the bloody hell was he getting at?

"It's a shame you're so willing to forgive a man who turned you into me."

Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. She felt her heart skip a beat at the vulgar accusation, but aside from the minor reaction she felt nothing but confusion. He…Draco wouldn't have turned her into Theo—he couldn't have known what had happened! He wouldn't have betrayed her like that; he'd been gone for so long! He had—she'd Obliviated him and he'd come back to ride things out for the duration of their marriage!

There was no way that the man whom Hermione had so completely given her life to would—

A creaking sound came from a far corner of the office, and Hermione heard the sound of a closet door opening and closing. A shadow enveloped the corner of the room, and no matter how desperately Hermione attempted to make out the shape of the figure, she was at a loss. After a few moments of what sounded like fidgeting with the doorknob of the closet, the shadow stepped into the light, and Hermione gave a shuddering gasp.

It was Draco. And he didn't have a bruise or scratch on his body.

"How nice of you to join us, Hermione," Draco drawled as he stepped into the light, his face devoid of emotion.

Betrayal crippled her in that instant; washed over her like a tidal wave and nearly struck her to her knees. He'd been the one to lure her here? He'd left in favor of turning her in? But…but why? As some sort of cruel punishment for the mistake she'd made all those months ago?

She stared at him in disgust and wonder, unsure how to process the tsunami of emotions that were coursing through her. Her eyes grew glassy as she fought back tears, and right as she was about to make a bolt for the door, her eyes locked onto Draco's. She held his gaze for a moment, noticing that his eyes were communicating to her what his face could not.

He wasn't betraying her. This wasn't a trap to lure her into, it was one for Theodore Nott.

She nearly let out a shuddering sob of relief, but refrained, recognizing that she had to put on a façade in order for her husband's treachery against the man who had single-handedly ruined their lives to be successful. She itched to check the time and calculate when Harry and Kingsley would arrive with the other Ministry officials, but she dared not risk looking at the clock for fear of what questions would rise from the simple action. Instead, she fixated her gaze on Theo and Draco, feigning confusion and betrayal.

"Draco, how—how could you?" She breathed, and the flicker of emotion that crossed her face showed Draco in an instant that she understood.

She'd always understood.

"Did you really think he ever loved you?" Theo said with a cold laugh; Draco remained silent. The insult caused a genuine wince to spread through Hermione—the words she'd dreaded hearing for so long finally being voiced.

She knew it was a charade of sorts, but the insult still stung worse than she could've imagined.

"I came, Nott, just take what you want from me," Hermione whispered, genuine fear still lingering in her body. It was a comfort to know that Draco was safe, and an even larger one to know that he hadn't set her up, but she couldn't help but to fear for the outcome of this dark situation. It was two against one, of course, but Nott was a cunning man—part of his Slytherin charm, she supposed.

"Wait," Theo began suddenly, amusement lacing his tone. "I want him to tell you." He jerked his head towards Draco, and Hermione once more knit her brows together in confusion. Tell her—

"Tell me what?" She mumbled, uncertain as to whether or not they'd even heard her. Draco seemed uneasy, as though the sudden shift in conversation had caught him offguard.

"Tell her, Malfoy—tell her how you deceived her."

"I—" Draco began, fumbling over himself in a desperate search for speech. The certainty that he hadn't betrayed her no longer rang confidently through Hermione's being. The frightened look in his eyes and the inability to form a coherent sentence caused the doubt that had planted itself in the back of her mind to blossom, and she felt her knees grow weak once more underneath her.

Oh, Merlin, what had he done?

"Theo came and found me shortly after you'd Obliviated me," Draco said quietly, and by the tone of voice in which he spoke, Hermione could tell that this wasn't some feigned story he was making up. He was telling the truth, which caused her heart to sink to her stomach. "He gave me his memories back and made a sort of uhh…a sort of deal with me."

"What _kind _of deal?" She managed, her vision growing blurry.

Silence.

"I said what _kind _of deal, Draco?" Hermione shrieked, her voice going an octave higher. The demand to know what had transpired between Draco and Theo was a burning sensation, and Hermione hoped to Godric that Draco hadn't done anything too sinister—she didn't know how much her heart could take.

"I made a deal with him that I would turn you over to him after the six months remaining of our marriage had ended and the contract had expired itself, because he returned my memories and told me that you were the one who had made things the way they were."

Silence enveloped them as Hermione desperately tried to wrap her mind around the twisted situation at hand. So Draco had come back for revenge? Not to finish their marriage nor even because he had missed her? Even in the slightest?

Reality crushed the hopes that Hermione had steadily built over the course of the past few months—it crippled her and twisted her heart in the most painful of ways. She felt tears, hot and stinging, fill her eyes as she forced herself not to cry. This man—this wonderfully misled man whom she'd spent so long loving—had betrayed her. To the very villain who had been the cause of their grief in the first place.

"So this entire time that you and I have been—have been—" Hermione found herself unable to finish the sentence, the words coming out a garbled mess. Draco said nothing.

His silence might've as well been a conviction. He didn't love her—he hadn't for quite some time, she was certain of it. His lust for revenge had clearly overshadowed any stronger and more positive emotions he might have held for the Witch, and that realization hurt worse than anything else that could've possibly happened to her.

She shook her head slightly, willing the tears to subside. She had to be brave for this—she had to be strong.

"Alright, Malfoy, enough chit chat, hand me the vial," Theo said suddenly, shoving himself closer to Hermione. He sounded bored, almost, which irritated Hermione far more than it should have. She glared at him as Draco hesitantly handed the man a few flasks, eyeing Hermione with confusion and curiosity. He looked at her as though he didn't quite comprehend something about how she was reacting—what! Did he expect her to _understand_? She very nearly scoffed at the thought.

She watched as Theo made to remove his wand from his pocket—long, thin and wooden. It was just a plain, regular wand, and yet Hermione knew that it held the power to completely alter her life. She pressed herself against the desk that was situated behind her, the corner of which dug into the supple skin of the back of her thigh.

Any moment now, Harry was expected to barge through the door of Nott's office with Kingsley Shacklebolt and other various Ministry members in tow, wands raised and ready for a fight.

Theo situated the vials in his hands, clearing his throat and gripping his wand tight.

_Any minute now, Harry,_ Hermione thought desperately, digging her nails into the flesh of her palms.

Theo's wand was being raised, achingly slow, and Hermione felt so ill she swore she'd faint right in that moment. All sense had evaded her; she was frozen, far too dumbstruck to reach into her sleeve like the normally sensible Witch she'd always been and retrieve her wand. No, no, she was too much in shock to even think of such a thing.

"This won't hurt a bit, Granger," Theo sneered, and the cruelly pleased look that encompassed his features was so loathsome that Hermione couldn't help but to wish harm on the wretched man.

_Well, _she thought dismally. _This is it. Harry really isn't coming. Oh, Harry, where are you? How could you—_

Any thoughts of worry or regret vanished from her mind when a large body suddenly collided with hers, throwing her to the ground. She caught a streak of blonde hair out of her peripheral vision, and soon her body was being pressed up against the desk and shielded, and the person who was kneeling in front of her was shouting at Theo.

"Leave her the fuck alone!" It shouted, and as Hermione blinked twice and focused on the scene before her, she felt her heart flutter in her chest, swelling with relief and pride.

It was Draco.

Theo's face was overwhelmed with a flurry of emotions—first shock, then disbelief, followed by anger, and finally a queer and uneasy sort of emotion that Hermione didn't have time to identify. His face slowly spread into an amused smile, and Hermione felt Draco press her further against the desk, as if he could somehow protect her from their proximity. Hermione rose to sit, backing as far into the desk as she could go, slowly slipping her wand from her sleeve in a manner so that Theo couldn't see it. She began inching it out slowly, but when Theo directed his attention towards them she froze, not wanting to risk their only chance.

"What's this?" Theo began, amused. "Have you grown soft, Malfoy? Have you grown _fond _of Granger again?" He snickered, and Hermione felt her temper flare. How dare he! Why, of all the—

"No, Nott," Draco managed, and all thoughts of protest that had been forming in Hermione's mind wilted.

"You can take my memories. But I want you to leave hers."

Hermione felt her chest swell and wished for nothing more than to drag Draco out of this blasted room this very instant and tell him how much he meant to her. But oh, she wouldn't allow him to do such a thing! He'd only just gotten his memories back, and really, neither one of them deserved to have their precious memories stolen from them.

"No, Draco, I won't—" Hermione attempted to protest, but a very loud noise of protest sounding from the man standing before them silenced her.

"How touching, really," Theo sneered, and Hermione watched as he raised his wand again. Curious, Hermione tugged on Draco's arm, pressing her chest flat against his back.

"As it is, however," Theo continued, as though the thought had just struck him. "The Black Market would pay quite a pretty penny for a _set _of valuable memories. I'm sure if I delivered the stolen memories of an ex-Death Eater and his Golden Trio member wife to anyone in desire of making a purchase, I could make quite a handsome sum."

Draco patted his body for what Hermione supposed was his wand, and then heard him groan in defeat.

"He has my wand," Draco spat regretfully, and Hermione could sense his body quivering with anger.

"Yes, and good thing, too," Theo continued, his wand now aimed at Draco. He took a step closer, making sure his wand was aimed directly at Draco's forehead as he did so. Hermione, taking this opportunity for her own, slid the wand she'd hidden in her sleeve a little further down. She could now grip the handle, and she tried to think of the most appropriate spell for the occasion.

"I couldn't very well let you have your wand when I knew you'd do something stupid like this," Theo concluded, shaking his head slightly in disappointment. His eyes grew dark with greed and he licked his lips once. Hermione gripped her wand in her hand, a spell forming on the tip of her tongue, ready to burst forth at just the precise moment.

Theo opened his mouth, and began to speak.

"_Ob—_"

"_Expelliarmus_!" Hermione shrieked, jabbing her wand in the direction of Theodore Nott. His wand flew from his hand, hitting the wall on the far side of the room and clattering to the floor with a dull thud. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Theo and moved to stand slowly; confidently. She felt Draco stand next to her, hovering protectively over his wife. Slowly, Theo held up his hands, shocked but otherwise unaffected by her little stunt.

"Impressive, Hermione," was all he said at first. Finally, upon realizing that neither Draco nor Hermione were going to comment further, he cleared his throat and spoke again.

"So what are you going to do with me now, hmm? Obliviate me? Curse me and live me for dead?" He cocked one brow, as if to challenge him. Hermione heard a dull thud sound in the hallway, and she aimed her wand more directly at Theodore Nott, a delicious and victorious smirk spreading across her face. There was a loud thud against the door leading to Theo's office; and then another, and then another. Finally, the wooden door burst open to reveal Harry in an Auror suit, accompanied by Kingsley, Ron, and Ron's older brother, Bill.

"Not exactly," Hermione responded, her lips lifting into a victorious smile.


	21. The Trial

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! Alright, I realized I just uploaded a chapter and all, but I've really been in a writing mood this weekend, and I don't know how soon I can update in the future, so I've decided to write the next chapter for you all! Now, first I have a bit of a note to direct to **newyorklover **concerning her last review. I went back and looked over the chapter, and originally I had mentioned that Theo's plan was to Obliviate his meeting with Hermione and Draco from their minds so that he wouldn't get in trouble for it, and then he was going to extract their memories. I guess somewhere through my editing and such I accidentally deleted it, so I take the fault for that one! I really want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this, and as always, read/comment/let me know what you think! My song rec for this chapter is "Apologize" by One Republic. Enjoy .

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty One: <strong>The Trial

"And how long have you been keeping this plan with Theodore Nott a secret?"

"About a year—maybe a little longer."

Draco was placed in a small court room deep within the confines of the Ministry of Magic, sitting in a chair opposite a small trial full of Ministry officials, and seated at the head of the council was none other than the Minister of Magic himself: Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley rifled through the open file in front of him, perusing over the multiple offenses charged against Draco.

Most of which were thanks to none other than Theodore Nott himself.

After being captured by the Ministry in the heart of his shady business location, Theo had been taken to the Ministry and placed in a holding cell for questioning, during which time he made it well-known that Draco had not only made a deal to turn over his wife for illegal activity, but that the young Malfoy had also been responsible for hiding a wanted mental patient: Narcissa Malfoy. Draco didn't give a shit what they did to him, so long as they didn't hurt his mother—they couldn't lock her up like some sort of loon! She was still his mother, and he still loved her with everything he had. He had to protect her; he'd always felt that way.

But Theo had warned him, all those months ago—warned him that if Draco tried to fuck up their arrangement, that he'd ruin the carefully crafted lifestyle Draco had built to protect his mother. And ruin it he had.

"Would you please explain to the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy," Kinglsey began once more, snapping Draco from his thoughts. "what possessed you to agree to this deal in the first place?"

Draco wrung his hands together and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Oh, fuck—explaining his motives would probably sound a lot worse than they had when he'd originally agreed to the deal in his vulnerable state, and Draco was certain it wouldn't do much for his redemption.

"Well," He began, his eyes drifting over the council. "I had been left alone to trek across Europe—mostly Great Britain, admittedly—for about a month after my Obliviation. After that, I was somewhere in Scotland, I believe, when Theodore discovered me. He could tell that I'd had my memories stripped and that I had no clue what my real name even was. So he—he took it upon himself to return my memories to me. After that, well, he took advantage of my vulnerability from the ahh—the retrieval of my memories. He preyed upon them—told me that what had happened was my wife's fault, and told me that the only way she would err—learn her lesson, so to speak—would be to do to her what she'd done to me. I wasn't even aware initially that he wanted her memories for anything…malicious."

Silence fell across the court room, and Draco felt anxiety wash over him. Hermione hadn't even shown up to his bloody trial, he noticed as he looked around the empty stands.

No one had shown up.

It was a sobering thought to realize that no one even gave enough of a damn to attend his trial in the first place—perhaps it had been a hushed matter, he didn't know. He had expected, naively enough, that at least his _wife _would show up. And after everything they'd been through.

Then again, she had discovered his betrayal the night in Nott's office. He could only imagine what she thought about him now.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Kingsley asked, and the inflection in his tone suggested that he had been attempting to get Draco's attention for the past few minutes. Draco shook his head, clearing his mind of all thoughts and focusing on the task at hand—getting through his trial without a one way ticket to a cold cell in Azkaban.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?"

"I _said, _Mr. Malfoy: and why, exactly, did you hide your mother away?"

Draco paused—shit. Another question that would do nothing but harm him in the eyes of the Wizengamot, no doubt.

"She's my mother," He stated foolishly. Well, of course she was his bloody fucking mother! What was wrong with him—why weren't any of the thoughts that had taken root in his mind able to flow effortlessly from his mouth? Why was this such a damn struggle?

Perhaps because this was the first time he'd told the truth about the matter in over a year. He'd never even admitted the truth of it to himself, let alone an entire council of people.

"My mother's not a bad person," He began again, growing slightly defensive. He didn't want the members of the Wizengamot to look down on his mother for his family's affiliation during the Second War—which was _not, _he might as well have added, her fault—nor did he want them to judge her for the fiasco concerning Hermione and their unborn child.

"The War, it…messed her up a lot. She can't remember anything past a certain point in her life; she's forever stuck in the past. Some days she remembers me as a fifth year who has just been accepted onto Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad. Other times, she remembers me as the confused young man in my Sixth Year; and rarely—very rarely, in fact—she remembers things from the midst of the War. But nothing afterwards—she's forever stuck believing she has to fear for her family's life.

"I didn't want her to be locked away in St. Mungo's for something she couldn't control; treated as nothing better than a loon. I didn't want to risk the chance of her being sent to Azkaban for the uhh…the incident concerning Hermione and our—child. She didn't mean to cause any harm, she was merely having one of her spells. There was a warrant out for her, and I just—my mother means a lot to me. I didn't want anything to happen to her."

The court fell silent, and a few Wizengamot members exchanged glances, which caused the knot that had tightened in the pit of Draco's stomach to ache. Oh, fuck, he was going to be convicted, wasn't he? He knew it—he just knew it. Now there was no way he was going to be able to—

"Your mother would be very well taken care of at St. Mungo's, you know," Kingsley spoke softly, temporarily disregarding the stack of papers spread before him. Draco lifted his gaze up to meet the Minister's, and his brows furrowed together.

"Oh?" was all he could manage. Kingsley merely nodded; he understood. Draco licked his lips and parted them to speak once more when he heard a firm knock from the door leading to his trial room, followed by the insistent low buzzing of what resembled voices. Quirking one brow, he twisted around in his seat to stare at the door, and several other council members directed their gaze to the closed door, as well.

Was someone trying to gain access to his trial…?

The door burst open, and a few men clad in blue Azkaban employee suits marched in, holding a man within their grip. A man with long, blonde hair and a temporary emerald tailored suit that stood out compared to his daily attire of a striped prison uniform.

It was his father.

Confused, Draco twisted around and watched as his father was led to the front of the room, holding his head high like the proud Pureblood he'd been raised. It would appear that even after a handful of years in prison, Lucius was still the arrogant and proud man he'd always been. He began to wonder how in the hell—_why _in the hell—his father was there when he heard the clacking of what appeared to be high heels against the smooth flooring of the trial room. His grey eyes slid over to the source of the noise, and his eyes met a pair of soft and hazel ones instantly.

_Hermione._

She was clad in a brown pantsuit and dark-colored heels to match, her curly hair framing her face. In her hand she held a contract of sorts, and without looking at Draco she crossed the courtroom and handed the document to Kingsley, who stared at her warily for a moment before taking the parchment from her hand.

"What is this, Ms. Granger?"

"_Mrs. Malfoy,_" She corrected immediately, and Draco saw a slight blush creep on her face after her defense. Clearing her throat, she shook her head slightly and continued.

"It's a contract I had Lucius Malfoy sign shortly after Draco's return. It's a binding contract, and I've brought him to testify its legitimacy as I present it to you—" She paused, gesturing towards the council with one of her dainty hands. "If you read the contract, you will note that it states that Lucius Malfoy testifies to his son's innocence from the charges against him regarding the Second Wizarding War, and will attest to the fact that Narcissa Malfoy's sanity began to dwindle towards the conclusion of said War."

She paused, exhaling deeply, and Draco stared at her in wonder. She had…she had done all of that for him?

But _why_?

Kingsley directed his attention towards Lucius expectantly, as though waiting for some kind of response. Lucius' face was expressionless, his cold gaze travelling over each member of the council, as though he wished that if he glared hard enough, they'd simply disappear.

Kingsley's gaze turned down towards the document at hand, and he skimmed it over, his brows furrowing together as he studied the fine print. Several minutes passed in silence, and Draco felt his hands grow clammy with anticipation. Finally, Kingsley lifted his head and shifted in his chair, once more directing his attention to Lucius.

"And you willingly signed this contract—understanding what it held and entitled?" He questioned, and suddenly everyone's hot and curious glares were turned to the eldest Malfoy, who seemed unaffected by the attention.

"Yes," He responded coolly. "I am perfectly aware. It's foolish to blame my son for my offenses—he did not willingly go into this Death Eater lifestyle nor would he have chosen it if he had been presented with an alternative."

Just then, a woman from the back of the room—a Wizengamot member whom Draco had never seen before—coughed slightly and raised her hand. She had short, raven-colored hair and a petite frame. She stared long and hard at Lucius before being granted permission by Kingsley to speak.

"There is _always _a choice, Mr. Malfoy," She protested, lacing her hands together in her lap as though she was quite pleased with the contradiction she'd brought up. Hushed whispers sounded across the council for a minute before the group fell silent, and Draco swore he saw the tips of his father's lips twitch into a slight smirk.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

Draco was stunned by his father's outward protest, mildly worried that he was going to risk further punishment by being so outwardly disrespectful to a Ministry member. The woman who had raised her hand, however, had no further commentary, and seemed to shrink back into the stand she had placed herself at.

Lucius suddenly shifted his cold gaze over to Hermione expectantly, and his lips pursed slightly. Draco began to idly wonder if that was where he'd picked up the trait from when his father's cool and commanding tone snapped him from his thoughts.

"Do you plan on telling them, I wonder, _your _offenses, Miss—oh, forgive me—Mrs. _Malfoy_?"

If the room had been quiet before, it was deadly silence now. Draco could have sliced the tension with a knife, and he felt his heart speed up as the words his father had uttered registered in his mind. He wanted to cry out and demand to know what they were speaking of, but he didn't want to risk getting scolded by the same lot of people who were to determine whether or not he'd leave this trial room a free man. He gazed at Hermione curiously, watching her face pale considerably, and any doubt he might've held that his father wasn't telling the truth fled immediately.

Clearly, she was hiding something from him.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Hermione licked her lips and turned to face the Wizengamot, her face near expressionless.

"What is Mr. Malfoy referring to, Hermione?" Kingsley questioned, genuine curiosity overwhelming his aged features. Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other, lacing her hands together and brushing her thumb across her knuckle.

"Before Draco's…disappearance," Hermione began in a strained voice, addressing the entire council now. "And shortly after the loss of our…uhm…our child, I became very, well, intoxicated one night and was approached by Theodore Nott."

She paused, swallowing heavily, and Draco felt as though a century had passed before she continued.

"And he spoke to me about—uhm—about the importance of his illegal memory business. He was brief, really, but he made it clear that mine would be worth a small fortune, and when I resisted in my intoxicated state, he—he placed the Imperius Curse on me."

She choked out the last words, and Draco felt his eyes bulge from their sockets. He stared at her in astonishment, wondering why the hell Hermione had never felt the need to make him privy to such information! He gripped the arms of his chair, leaning forward and listening intently as Kingsley urged her to continue.

"He Imperio'd me into arriving to your office that one afternoon shortly after the incident—" Hermione gestured towards Kingsley. "—and forced me into placing charges against my husband and his mother. After which, I was informed that if I turned him into you, he would make sure that Narcissa would suffer for my…for my unwillingness to comply with his demands, and I couldn't put my husband through that. I couldn't allow his mother to become prey to the harsh ways of the world just because I wasn't strong enough to resist the Imperius. Draco loves his mother, exceedingly so, but had I been under my own control…well, I wouldn't have dreamed of pressing charges against them."

Draco sat in his chair, completely dumbstruck with the information she was revealing to the entire council. Was that why she'd acted so guilty ever since he'd returned? Why she often fell asleep crying and apologized to him when she thought he had long since fallen asleep?

It was as though someone had turned on a light and thrust him out into the open and out of the dark and cramped space he'd been isolated in for so long.

Finally, he understood.

"So…how did Draco come to be Obliviated, exactly?" Kingsley questioned, enthralled in the story she'd produced. Draco's breath hitched in his throat and he tensed, listening as he wondered whether or not she'd tell the truth, whether or not she'd reveal—

"I Obliviated him…purposely. I did it to protect him after we hid Narcissa in a Muggle institution."

—the truth. So long, he'd been waiting for her to tell the truth about that day. He had longed for it, almost, and now that the moment was finally upon him, Draco wasn't sure how to feel about it. The truth had been a lot more complex than he'd originally guessed, and he felt faint trying to wrap his head around it all.

"I hope you realize, Hermione, we're going to need proof," Kingsley said finally, and the inflection in his tone hinted that he resented himself for even having to ask something so personal of her in the first place. Nodding, Hermione produced her wand, walking over to Kingsley. She handed it to him, and he stepped down from the podium, retrieving his own wand and holding hers in his hand.

It was then that Draco grasped what they were doing—Hermione was going to show him her memories.

All members of the council, the Azkaban guards, Lucius, and Draco watched as Hermione and Kingsley slowly marched from one end of the court room to the other. Kingsley fiddled with a door located on the far right side of the room, opening it up to reveal a dark room tinted with blue: the Pensieve room. He turned around, motioning for two of the officials who were positioned in the stands to come down and bear witness. They did as ordered, nervously walking back into the room.

Kingsley shut the door behind them, and suddenly Draco was left alone with a council of Wizards and Witches alike who were silently judging him, an impassive entourage of Azkaban employees, and an estranged and cold father.

Silence enveloped the courtroom for several moments. Draco watched the clock mounted in the tiny room, watching in nervous agitation as the clock ticked past five minutes, then ten, then fifteen…

At approximately twenty-five minutes after Hermione, Kingsley, and the other nameless trial members had entered the Pensieve room, Draco heard a rustle as a door was thrown open, and silently they began to file out, Hermione looking significantly relieved. Kingsley, however, seemed slightly disturbed, and Draco couldn't quite make out the expressions on the other two Ministry employees' faces.

Kingsley held a small clear vial in his hand—one of which Draco suspected contained Hermione's memory that was crucial to his trial. The Minister stepped back up on his podium and lifted the vial with the swirling memory contained in it for all to see.

"We have here an extracted memory of Golden Trio member and War Heroine Hermione Granger," He explained loudly, and Draco's eyes slid over to his wife's.

She still wouldn't look at him.

"This memory contains irrevocable proof that supports Draco Malfoy's innocence, as well as his wife's. This vial has been reviewed by myself and approved, as well as other certified members of the Ministry of Magic."

Kingsley paused in his speech to set the vial down on his podium, lifting Draco's trial papers and holding them up for the room to see.

"And now, we vote."

Kingsley took his seat, and Draco began to quiver slightly in anticipation. He was certain that the proof that Hermione had brought forth was more than enough to prove him innocent, but he knew that people would be against him, one way or another.

The question was—how many people were willing to believe he was a man of innocence?

There were twenty Ministry members—aside from Kingsley—who had been placed to view and vote on the trial of Draco Malfoy, and as they all prepared themselves for the final decision, Draco felt his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

"All those for Draco Malfoy being cleared of all charges?"

After a short beat of silence in which nobody acted, twelve of the Ministry members—including Kingsley—raised their hands, and Kingsley tallied the vote.

"And all those against?"

The remaining members present at the trial hesitantly raised their hands, and Kinglsey recorded the scores. Moving to stand once more, Kingsley cleared his throat and his gaze swept over Draco, Hermione, and Lucius.

"The court hereby votes in favor of Draco Malfoy's repentance, and clears him, his mother _and _his wife of all possible charges."

Relief swept through his body, coursing through his veins and causing him to slump over slightly in his chair. Draco could hardly hear over the pulsing in his ears, and he was quite certain that everyone could hear his labored breathing as he struggled in vain to collect his bearings.

His eyes snapped to his wife's, and Draco quickly got to his feet, making his way over to her. He studied her, noticing there were tears in her eyes, and upon seeing him walk towards her as the Ministry members slowly began to file out of the court room, Hermione quickly swiped at her eyes and sniffled, reluctantly meeting his gaze.

"Well," She said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "You've gotten what you wanted now—you're free, Draco."

Draco studied her, puzzled for a moment. He didn't understand—why was she acting like this? Wouldn't she be pleased that he was free? They could be together now—right? Wasn't that what she wanted? Wasn't that what _he _wanted?

"I…suppose," Draco managed, his brows furrowing together slightly as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

"Congratulations," She said coolly, wringing her hands together. "Now you can finally leave and move on, like you wanted."

Draco stared at her in silence, completely stunned. Had his letter meant _nothing_ to her…?

"Hermione, I—"

"I'm sorry, I have to go," She whispered, shoving past him and turning her gaze to the ground. She tugged a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and clacked noisily through the court room, leaving with the final Ministry member.

Stunned, Draco stared, open-mouthed, at the space where she had once stood.

What the hell just _happened_?

It was then that Draco noticed the Azkaban employees were gathering their bearings and beginning to lead Lucius from the room once more. He stopped them, turning to Draco and settling his gaze on his son. It had been so long since they'd seen one another, and Draco felt a small lump beginning to form in his throat.

"Draco," Lucius began, in that same cold and demanding drawl that Draco had been so accustomed to as a child.

"Yes, father?"

"She might be a Mudblood and all, but…she went through a lot to ensure you'd be safe. And while it would please me no further than to see you move on and marry someone worthy of your social status—you need to start living for yourself."

He made a gesture with his hands, then, as if to pat his son on the shoulder, but decided against it, allowing the Azkaban guards to lead him out of the court room.

And Draco was left in silence.


	22. Her Redemption

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **Hello, everyone! Well, we're reaching the end of our time together with Redemption—bit depressing for me, actually. I'm not finished with the fic yet—I've still got some things to do to wrap it up—but I hope you enjoy what I've done with this chapter; it's taken me weeks of planning how they'd end up like this, and I hope you guys like it! I'm going to recommend "Bloodstream" by Stateless for this chapter—I know I've probably rec'd it before but honestly I just love it so much for the mood of this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy chapter twenty two, let me know :').

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Two: <strong>Her Redemption

It had been a few days since the successful outcome of Draco's trial—a few days since he'd left the comfort of their flat in favor of staying in a hotel until he could find a suitable flat. Hermione noticed just how empty and barren the apartment felt in his absence—it felt just as desolate as it had in the weeks following his first departure. The thought of him never returning to her was enough to leave the brunette-haired Witch in a state of melancholy—she trekked about the house in a pair of sweats and an over-sized sweater to match, her hair in a messy bun. Cradling a steaming mug of tea in her hands, Hermione shuffled from the kitchen nook to the table, sitting herself down and staring at the obscene amount of work before her.

Sniffling, she raised the mug to her mouth and placed her lips around the warm rim, sipping delicately before setting the cup down on the table. The warmth the beverage had to offer enveloped her, and Hermione shivered slightly as she picked up a small packet and began to half-heartedly skim it. Her brown brows knit together of their own accord and she nibbled on her bottom lip, reading more about the effects of The Draught of Living Death on patients who had not been awakened from the potion's toxic sleep-inducement. She idly noted that Draco would more than likely have more knowledge to offer on the subject, being a skilled proficient in the field of Potions, and Hermione felt her heart constrict at the mention of her husband.

Her soon-to-be-ex-husband, she reminded herself bitterly.

However, no matter how hard she struggled to push the thoughts of her former lover and soon to be ex-husband from her mind, the memories of him would envelop her like a tsunami, and she'd drown in the very essence of him. She remembered his soft touch; his cool grey eyes that were full of more emotion than most people possessed in their entire beings. She recalled the way he'd say her name—soft and full of hidden emotion—and if she were paying close attention, she could detect the loving caress as the word dripped from his tongue. The way they molded together so beautifully and how he always smelled deliciously of lilac-scented shampoo right after he'd gotten out of the shower.

Hermione shivered, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek and plopped on the small packet she'd been reading, staining the page and causing the ink to blur. With shaky hands, she set the papers down and swiped at her eyes, but her body wracked with silent sobs nonetheless. Her mouth quivered as she cried, and the sounds that left her were broken and desperate as she gasped for breath.

If she hadn't taken a break from crying in favor of sucking in another lungful of air, it's quite possible Hermione wouldn't have heard the firm knock on the door. Flinching slightly, she debated on slinking back into the master bedroom and hiding in her room until the knocking subsided and whoever had come to pester her had buggered off. It had been a rainy day—she could have easily lied and claimed that the moisture and cool conditions had gotten her ill. She could fake a common cold easily enough, couldn't she?

But no, no, she wouldn't do that—it required too much of an effort to avoid facing the inevitable: moving on without _him. _And the longer she postponed engaging in conversation with other people and trying to move on with her life, the more difficult it would become.

Forcing herself to stop crying, Hermione hiccupped and rose to her feet, padding to the door. She was swiping the fallen tears from her rosy cheeks as she opened the door. Blinking twice, she lifted her gaze to a tall, lean, pale figure, and she felt her heart sputter and skip a beat. She backed away, her brown eyes growing wide as her mouth gaped open in shock.

It was Draco.

His hair was wet from the rain, plastered to his forehead so that the strands dribbled with water. His clothes were damp, and he stared at her with a ferocity she couldn't quite understand. His grey eyes seemed to be searching her hazel ones for an answer to something which she clearly couldn't offer him, and she tried desperately to make out the expression on his face. Anger? Disappointment? Confusion? Hermione couldn't seem to tell which; there was no clear emotion embedded into his features, and this frightened her for some reason.

Breathing shakily, she parted her lips to speak, but was abruptly cut off by the sound of his trembling voice.

"Why didn't you say anything about my letter?" He snapped, hurt evident in his tone.

Hermione blinked twice in confusion. Letter? What letter was he referring to—? Had he sent her something in the post and she'd lost track of it?

And more importantly…what did this letter _contain_?

"What are you talking about?" She breathed, her brows furrowing together. She gazed at him in bewilderment, aching to reach out and brush a hand through his silky blonde hair, wet with rainwater. She refrained, however, nearly blushing when she realized how inappropriate that would be, given the current situation.

"What the fuck do you mean, _what am I talking about?" _Draco hissed, and she saw his hands twitch at his sides. She flinched at his abrasive tone, wishing she could scream at him to get the hell out of _her _flat, but still feeling far too defeated to do so. Instead, she swallowed the aching lump that had begun to form in her throat, meeting his glare with one of her own.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," She answered honestly; coolly. She shrugged slightly, trying to calm her nerves and failing dreadfully.

Draco stared at her incredulously for a handful of minutes, a series of emotions flickering across his face. He looked so undeniably broken, and Hermione hated that it caused a pang in her chest. She just wanted him to be _happy_—even if it wasn't with her.

"I never received any letter, Draco—honestly," Hermione urged, her voice squeaking slightly. For reasons unknown, she found it crucial that he realize she'd never seen this damn letter he'd supposedly sent her; she didn't want to cause him to grow angry and storm off. Not just yet.

"Then how did you—why did you—" Draco trailed off, clearing his throat once. Hermione watched him in confused awe, wondering what the hell he was going to do next.

Irritated, Draco ran a hand through his wet hair, beads of water springing free from his blonde mane. He looked at her, vulnerable, and Hermione swore she felt her heart crack in half.

He looked so…_broken. _Almost like—

"I love you," Draco breathed in a jagged rush.

All thoughts Hermione had been harboring suddenly fled, and she was left feeling dumbstruck. Those words—those three words that she had ached to hear from her husband for over a year…it had been so long, and yet it still sounded as wonderful as it had the first time he'd ever uttered the sentiment to her.

"You—you what?" Hermione choked out, shuddering slightly. No, no, he didn't love her, though—despite what she may have been trying to convince herself, he was just confused or playing some sort of joke on her, that was all…

But Draco wouldn't be _that _cruel, would he?

"I love you, Hermione," He pressed, his voice shaking as he stepped forward. Hermione meant to move back, but she found herself frozen; unable to even shift her weight from one foot to the other.

"I never stopped loving you," He continued, urgency in his voice. "Fuck knows I tried, all things given, but I never did—I've loved you for so long, and I suspect I'll never stop. Shit, Hermione, I never _want _to stop loving you—because…because as wrong as this seems, it feels right. It feels like the most realistic thing I've ever had, and you make me feel human. I love the way you stamp your foot when you get pissed off, or when you wrinkle your nose when you laugh. I love the little sighs you make when you're exhausted or the snorts you try to stifle when you're displeased with something. I'd take all of you, the good and the bad, just to know that I had my wife back."

Hermione still hadn't the strength to speak, and so her mouth hung open as she struggled to compose words. Growing panicked, Draco licked is lips and spoke again.

"What is it you want? Another kid? We'll raise a family together. Do you—do you want me to act differently? I'll try. Fuck, Hermione, I lost you once—don't make me lose you again."

Hermione stared at him, completely dumbfounded, as she felt her body begin to tremble. The words that she'd longed for so long had finally tumbled out of his mouth, and unable to stop herself, the young Witch let out a broken cry, the tears freely falling from her face. She watched as Draco's face contorted itself into concern, which caused another sob to evacuate her lungs.

He cared—he really cared.

He _loved _her.

Before she could stop herself, Hermione raced forward and pounced on her husband, her hands going to fist in his wet hair and her lips violently crushing against his own. Draco staggered back for a moment, but soon he was kissing her back, trying to wipe Hermione's tears from her face as she sobbed. She hopped up, wrapping her legs around his waist and tugging him closer—inhaling his scent; tasting him on her lips.

Oh, _God_, he felt nothing like what she remembered. He felt better, somehow—real. Tangible, now that she knew she held his heart like he held hers. Draco's hands flew to grip her thighs and support her, his mouth working sloppily against her own.

"Hermione, why are you crying?" Draco panted as he pulled away from her slightly, but Hermione would have none of it. She bent her head, kissing his neck to his collar bone as silent sobs shook her body.

"I just—" She choked, her throat aching. "I love you—I love you so much; you're mine and no one else's. Please, Dr—Draco, _please _don't leave again. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

She became a blubbering mess, kissing her husband's collar bone with trembling lips as he carried her to their bedroom, kicking the door open and gently setting her down on the bed. Hermione gazed up at him through her blurred vision, watching as he slowly removed his wet shirt and jacket, moving then to his trousers and boxers. She let out a soft whimper when his pale and bare form was exposed to her, giving out a soft mewl of need and arching her back. She moved to fumble restlessly with her sweatpants, but soon his cold hands were resting on top of hers. Slowly, he removed her hands from their position on the waistband of her sweatpants, moving to straddle her. He undid the tie of her sweatpants and looped the hem under his fingers, gently dragging the material down. Next came her knickers, and afterwards Draco bent down and kissed the skin directly above her cunt. His hands moved to grab the bottom of her sweater, and his lips trailed up the skin of her stomach as he rolled the shirt up, finally tugging it off of her. He unclasped her bra then, and Hermione arched into his touch, her hands flying to tangle themselves in his blonde locks.

"Please, Draco," She whimpered, rotating herself restlessly beneath him. "Please, I need you."

Draco moved his head so that his lips were hovering above her own, and he stared at her through half-lidded eyes. She gazed up at him with wide eyes, begging to be taken. He had to claim her—she had to know that this was real; she still had so many doubts. Slowly, Draco positioned himself and sunk into the writhing Witch beneath him, and Hermione cried out, her hands flying to claw at his back as tears rolled down the side of her face.

"What's wrong? Am I hurting you?" Draco breathed, freezing. Hermione gazed up at him, opening her mouth to laugh and moaning softly instead.

"N—no, you just feel so—you feel so _good,_" She moaned, tugging him closer and kissing the tip of his nose. "Keep going—please, Draco. Please…I need it."

Draco began slow, at first, thrusting against her at a soft and easy pace. When Hermione began to grunt and claw at his back, however, her body writhing underneath his, he began to speed up, finding his rhythm.

"Yes, yes," Hermione breathed, lifting her hips and willing him to sink deeper into her. "Faster, Draco, faster."

She allowed her eyes to flutter closed for a minute, craning her neck and allowing Draco to suck on the sensitive skin that resided at the base of her throat. When he hit a particularly sensitive place inside of her, Hermione cried out in pleasure, causing her eyes to fly open. Her eyes locked onto Draco's, watching him as he fucked her and listening to the pleased grunts and groans that tumbled past his pale lips.

In a surge of passion, Hermione leaned forward and captured his lips in her own, cradling his face in her hand and rotating her hips, causing his cock to explore new and delicious angles inside of her.

"Fuck, Hermione," Draco whimpered, pounding into her again. His action called the Witch to cry out, and she felt herself growing closer and closer to the climax she'd so deliciously been waiting for. She hugged him closer and kissed his shoulder, allowing her tongue to slip between her lips and lick the skin there.

"I love you, Draco," Hermione choked out, resting her forehead against him as he continued to fuck her, moaning and mewling before her head finally fell back on the pillow.

"I love you—ohhh, oh God—too, Hermione," Draco managed, his voice garbled. He slammed into her a final time, and Hermione watched in delight as the shock of bliss and pleasure overwhelmed his face, causing his eyes to widen. He cried out her name as he came, riding her rough and hard in an attempt to enjoy as much of his orgasm as he could, and Hermione willingly obliged him. His orgasm triggered her own, and she screamed his name, mewling and gasping as she came, her mouth gaping open and her back arching as her cunt contracted around him and her feminine juices milked his cock. Much to her satisfaction, Draco aided Hermione in her release, holding her close as her body shuddered and she moaned. When both of their orgasms had exhausted themselves, Hermione collapsed against the bed, panting heavily. Draco leaned against her, his cock still snug inside of her as he moved to trail his lips along her jaw.

The couple lay in silence for several moments, with Hermione's arms wrapped tight around Draco so as to ensure he couldn't leave, and Draco pressing himself closer against his Witch to assure that he would stay.

"Draco," Hermione croaked, her throat aching from all of the pleasurable noises she'd uttered during coitus. "You're going to stay, right?"

A long pause ensued, and for a moment Hermione felt ill; as though he'd only come to fuck her one final time before leaving…that he hadn't really meant any of what he said, and before Hermione could register the sense to panic, he was speaking.

"For as long as you'll have me."

Hermione felt her heart flutter and she licked her swollen lips, refraining from crying in joy at his statement. It was around this time that she realized just how correct she had been upon discovering that not only had her husband deserved some redemption of his character, but she had, as well. The guilt she'd been feeling and the turmoil she'd gone under for almost two years was enough to age her for a lifetime, and knowing that he didn't hate her for her mistakes any more than she did for his was a relief; it lessened a weight off her chest and brought clarity to her eyes. She was free—free of the guilt; free of the pressing weight of her conscience. She no longer was going to be forced to live away in the recesses of her mind, always hiding from the truth. She had redeemed herself—_he _had redeemed her. She stared at her lover—at her _husband_—for a series of minutes with adoration in her eyes and a slight smile on her lips before she dared to respond.

"Thank you, Draco."

"For what?" He inquired, confusion clouding his features.

"For giving me exactly what I needed."

"And what was that?"

"My redemption."


	23. Epilogue

_**Redemption**_

**a/N: **It's been a long journey, everyone, but we've finally reached the conclusion of my first fic, _Redemption. _The tale of Draco and Hermione and their adventure to redeeming one another has been with me since November, and I'm in awe that it's finished. It feels like forever and at the same time as though it's happened in an instant. I want to thank all of you for reading, reviewing, and taking a genuine interest in my writing. It means a lot to me, and I hope you all stick around for the other Dramione-related fics I'll be writing in the future. You're all wonderful, and so without further ado, I bring to you the epilogue of _Redemption. _Thanks for sticking around, and your comments are always appreciated xoxo.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

_Six months later_

"Oh, Harry, you're being ridiculous, the wedding was beautiful," Hermione scolded, the slightest hint of a smirk twitching on her lips. She pulled a stray strand of hair behind her ears, playing with the hem of the lilac dress Ginny had originally picked out for her Maid of Honor, tailored slightly to accommodate Hermione's new figure. Harry, despite his protests that the wedding had been a failure since he'd practically tripped over himself when he went to stand at the altar and wait for his then bride-to-be, couldn't seem to wipe the huge grin from his face as he stood next to his wife. Ginny, decked out in a stunning white satin wedding gown, clung to Harry for dear life, and Hermione couldn't help but giggle at the sight. They were so inexplicably happy, and she knew that they deserved it more than almost anyone else she knew.

Absentmindedly, Hermione rubbed her stomach, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress as she scanned the reception area with starry eyes. Soft music was playing throughout the room, and guests were either seated at tables eating the catered meal that Molly had helped prepare, or were on the dance floor, swaying to the beat with their significant others. The scene was so undeniably _happy _that Hermione couldn't stop the sigh of content that escaped her lips. It was a beautiful sight; it had been a beautiful wedding.

"How far along are you these days, 'Mione?" came the booming and genuinely-curious voice of Ron Weasley. Hermione jumped slightly, startled by the sudden address of her name, and turned to face her friend, one hand resting on the bump on her stomach.

"A little over four and a half months," She answered, smiling genuinely. She had been pleased to discover that Ron's odd behavior gradually began to disappear once it was well-known that Hermione and Draco would be staying together. She could only hope that her friend had moved on not only from his grudges, but from his determination for them to once again be more than friends, as well. Ron seemed pleased enough when she'd announced her pregnancy, as had Harry and Ginny. Despite their dislike of her husband, she could at least appreciate that her friends were supportive of her decisions. It was more than a lot of people could say.

"Is he still treating you right, 'Mione?" Ron asked quietly; sternly. Hermione arched one brow at her friend, as if to communicate that his question was completely inappropriate. Ron managed a half-hearted shrug, realizing a lost cause when he found one.

Just then, Ron seemed to glare at something just outside Hermione's view and mumbled to himself, waving a half-hearted goodbye in her direction before sulking off to join George and Charlie. Confused by his sudden change in demeanor, Hermione's brows furrowed and she turned around, noticed a grinning Draco Malfoy standing behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. She smiled widely at him, grateful that her heels gave her an appropriate boost in height as she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Her mouth lingered on his for a few moments before she pulled away, maintaining their proximity.

"You took an awful long time going to get a drink of water," She mumbled, fixing his tie and licking his lips.

"Yeah, well I smelled Weasel and decided I didn't particularly desire the stench of rodent leaping on me," He muttered in jest, winking at her. Hermione managed to roll her eyes and scoff, but took his hand in her own nonetheless. Draco laced their fingers together and led her to the dance floor, gently guiding her through the throng of people. The tender way in which he'd handled her ever since they'd discovered she was pregnant was enough to make her heart ache; the realization that he truly cared washing over her each time.

She loved her husband just as she loved her soon-to-be child, and together she knew the three of them would make a brilliant family.

Once they'd reached the platform, Draco took the hand that wasn't laced with Hermione's and placed it against the small of her back, pulling her close. He laughed when he felt her protruding stomach press against him and his gaze flickered downwards before moving to settle on her hazel brown eyes.

"The kid's not even born yet and he's already getting in the way," He joked, a wry smile spreading across his features. Hermione laughed slightly, leaning forward and resting her head on her husband's chest as he gently swayed them to and fro on the dance floor. He smelled of cologne and lilac-shampoo, she noted, and an absent-minded smile played on her features as her eyes fluttered shut.

"Mmm, Draco?"

"Yes, love?"

"I went to speak with the doctor today about the baby."

She could feel her husband tense slightly; he always did that whenever she spoke about their child. It made her ill to realize just how concerned he was that something was going to happen to cause them to lose this child as well, and Hermione opened her eyes, lifting her head and pecking him once on the lips.

"It's nothing bad, I promise."

She felt him unhinge at her words, sighing in relief and casting his grey eyes down to settle on her brown ones. He stared at her expectantly, and Hermione flushed slightly when she realized she still hadn't communicated to him what she'd originally planned to.

"Alright then, what is it?" Draco asked, continuing to sway with her on the dance floor. The skirt of Hermione's dress billowed out around them, wrapping around her legs and his own as he moved the pair of them together in a rhythmic fashion. Idly, she wondered if either one of them were going to trip over the material before she snapped herself out of her thoughts, making herself to focus on the task at hand.

"Well, I wanted to surprise you. I know I should've probably asked or something first, and that you would've wanted to go with me, but I—"

"Hermione," Draco cut her off, glaring at her sternly. "What is it?"

"We're having a girl," Hermione whispered in a rush, her voice trembling. Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at her husband, waiting for his reaction. He stopped dancing, continuing to hold her close and gazing at her in astonishment.

"A—we're having a…" Draco managed, his words coming out a garbled mess as he struggled to remain composed in front of so many people.

"Yes, Draco, a girl," Hermione whispered, choking back a sob as she stared at her husband. She released her hold on his hand, cradling his face in her dainty hands and slowly guiding his face down to hers. She let out a slight sob before leaning up and pressing her quivering lips to her husband's. His lips remained frozen for a moment, but he soon melted into her and kissed her back, his hands wrapping around her waist and bringing her close. She didn't care that half the reception party was staring at them—didn't give a damn that they'd more than likely talk about her and her redeemed husband behind their backs.

Hermione had stopped caring what others thought of them long ago. All that mattered was him and her—all that mattered was right now.

When Hermione finally broke the kiss, lips swollen and panting slightly, she gazed lovingly at her husband and swiped the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes.

"Hermione," Draco breathed, licking his lips once. "What if I can't do this?"

Hermione gazed at him inquisitively, not quite understanding what he was trying to say.

"What if I—" He began again, sighing in frustration. "What if I'm not cut out for this? What if I make a shit father? You've seen _my _father; sometimes he means well, but he was just too damn overbearing. What if I suffocate our child the way he did me? What if I force her to act a certain way or believe a certain thing? I just…I don't want to be that person. I don't want to wake up one day and discover that you've packed up and left because you finally came to your senses and realized you'd wasted your time on me."

Hermione stared at him in silence as he spoke, her heart constricting painfully for her husband. Did he really believe that? Did he honestly believe he'd make a horrible father? She was caught between the urge to soothe his worries and smack him silly for even insinuating such a thing in the first place.

"You're _not _your father, Draco, nor will you be one like him," Hermione assured him sternly, holding his face tight in her small hands. Her eyes locked onto his and she nibbled on her bottom lip, praying to Merlin that one day he would understand that they were okay now—that nothing was going to happen to them.

"You told me once," She continued when she noticed that he hadn't responded. "That you wanted me to stay the night with you, because I always leave in your dreams."

Draco nodded stiffly, and she could tell by the flicker of emotion that passed through his silver eyes that he was recollecting the night spent shortly after his return that they'd made love on the couch.

"This isn't a dream, Draco," She said quietly, pulling herself closer to him. "And I'm not going to leave."

He remained silent for a handful of moments, as though he was digesting her words. Finally, he swallowed heavily and directed his attention to her once more, and his expression softened.

"You and I, remember?" He managed quietly, blinking twice as memories of their past overwhelmed him. He smiled at her—a gesture full of genuine warmth and happiness, and Hermione felt her heart pound in her chest. This was safe—this was home.

"Until our world comes crashing down," She responded softly, kissing him once more.

But as long as he was there, Hermione was quite certain it never would.


End file.
